Poem: Stone

 

A Stone

 

a stone,  

a cosmos of sparkle-speckle quartz-seeds,

fervent within somersaults and whirls,

destined to constellate in the mystery of my breath;

 

a stone,

orbiting what could be gods, 

or maybe simply the eyes of certain humans,

those poets, sages, and lovers 

who seek a moment on that Great Stage

 

where there are no ghosts, 

because we are all ghosts there,

ghosts far too real for answers

beyone what wishes can fathom.

 

wishes, yes,

such desperate wings,

 

we cling to them, 

whether we know or care or say,

borne by their magic of love and beauty

on this stone, 

 

a stone worthy of pain, of inevitable toil, 

of a certain end to days, to years, to consequence,

whether irreligious, profane or divine.

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2/1/24 ... mods

6/14 ... "a moment on" replaces "a hint of"  ... 

6/6 punctuation issue

6/4 ... lots more changes in the evening ... 

6/4  Vast changes today.  This was absolutely horrible poem when I put it up.  I am desperately trying to edit it into anything.  ... Experiencing a lot of grief over my father's death.

thought:  "this poem is probably going to die with me, sadly."