rocks talks

Buried
For an eon or two
Beneath a Grand Lake
A deluge
Now drained by drought.

In catastrophe comes renaissance
I now see the osprey
Fight with pintail duck
For the final fish

I shall be smoothed and rolled
Though I wish it not
My angry edges worn
Broken, abraded, eroded.

I shall grow crystals, gems
I am the tiger eye, amethyst, magma
And gravel, grit, sand

Rocks are,
as are we,
born and reborn of cataclysm
The melting and remitting of the self
To morph and be what
We did not intend.

Drawing lines within us
Between the dark that was
And the light that will

6 comments

  1. My thanks for the inspiration, once again from one more of you who bring rocks to me from far away places. To bring to me places I can not go. You know who you are.

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