Amethyst

Under my pillow,
amethyst,
humming softly,
waiting,
standing still,
like a rock.
If it really is a rock.
Exudes its quiet aura,
if it really is quiet.
Letting its magic,
if it really is magic,
seep slowly,
into my sheets,
like water.
Maybe it will dry,
but not before I notice
the unrest
on my bed.
Sometimes,
I prefer rocks.