Like The Strings In His Hands

It was a stone,
that's all it ever was.
Deductive though,
it was just a stone.

Flowing with the river,
leaving trails as it passed.
But never could it leave one,
that would ever last.

And so as it trailed,
believing it never failed.
It stumbled upon to a mirror,
oh you can't imagine it's horror.

Elevated pulse and widened eyes,
shocked it was with this surprise.
Another naked stone just like him,
another naked stone,with perfect skin.

And it broke it into fragments,
shattered it just by the touch of it.
And that was the end of this affair,
Oh! this cruelty won't be fair.

But alas he was alone,
our deductive solitary stone.
Shrivelling like the strings in his hands,
no more trying to disrupt sand.

Shrivelling he was,
like the violin he played.
Somewhere wishing in his elevated pulse,
the illusion stayed.

But no more lamenting over it's loss,
just sad, what it cost.
Wished it stayed,the refection,
wished he never felt it, his affection.
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This poem may not make sense to many of the readers, to those who feel they've understood this one, feel free to p.m me it's meaning too.