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.


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3 responses to “Stones”

  1. nice 🙂

  2. 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).