Thursday, June 19, 2014

Attempt at a poem

A small stone
I hold in my hand
Some call it a rock
I don't understand

Rock sounds so harsh
All pointy and sharp
A jagged departure
Always standing apart

Pebble now a better
Term yet elusive
Rambling about 
Dislodged with a shove

A stone is worn smooth
By time and place
Easily fitting into
Its current space

The rock is heavy
Sinking to the deep
The pebble too mobile
Always on the top of the heap

I shall stick with the small stone
Easily cupped in my hand
Ever present to ponder
Perhaps someday to understand

~ Ellen Apple 06/19/2014

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