Wearing at his palm.
Molted skin stone.
Attrition.
Rough hands erode.
We can.
Regeneration.
It's Sisyphusian in some form.
Wearing your feeling fingers down.
Legacy his only contribution
To a world that's gone.
Fixed in his task.
Decades pass.
Stone pushes stone, relinquish control.
Life he lived means nothing if no one remains.
Guess his reward is purpose hands on the stone.
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