If we could all
just stop throwing stones,
and stoop, knees bent
and write in the dust,
we’d see that the dust
was once stone –
grand, and hard, and proud, and tough –
now ground and dissolved
in grace and tears.
So… how much better
to be a grain of dirt
on that kind prophet’s hands
than a stone
in the cold, accusing Temple
of the pure.
Comments
3 responses to “Stones”
nice 🙂
I want to thank you again for allowing me to use this poem in my upcoming article for The Ooze – it really helped me to get on my knees in prayer and not be such a judgemental ass (a real hard problem if one is a satirist by profession).
beautiful