I’m extremely disappointed, if not totally crushed. As I wandered through some of the more remote and cavernous recesses of my mind, in search for something of value (anything, really) to write about, a singular word presented itself again and again.
Chalcedony…
Chalcedony…
Chalcedony… Oh, how magnificent a luster it offered, as I envisioned it placed in lavish trial sentences, its beautiful melody gracing each offering. Certainly it must be of noble origin, an evocative predisposition perhaps, or a preeminent condition. Lacking the exact meaning, I felt free to experiment with structure.
The brazen queen, her voice resonating with chalcedony, commanded the messenger to his knees.
Chalcedonic shadows issued flawlessly amidst the grayness of protracted winter.
The warriors, drunk on power and insane with chalcedonous bloodlust, stormed the hill, vowing to take no prisoners.
Yea, one of those choices most certainly had to be the true meaning.
So, not wishing to perpetrate a persiflagate fraud, I decided to consult the dictionary. Immediately, regret streamed into my frontal lobes with the power of Hoover Dam breaking. Dam you, Merriam-Webster!
Turns out that my beautiful expression of power, grace, greed and all fashions of perceived glory is, in actuality, a rock.
A freakin' rock...
I fear there is no room in my head for more rocks, even if they happen to be precious stones of rhombohedral cleavage, tetrahedral crystal, conchoidal fracture and commonly pale blue or gray color with nearly wax-like luster.
I had such great hopes…
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