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STONES
The stones cold surface
in dark places mirrors mossy tombs,
the strata cracked and broken
into shards,
the myriad insects
dancing their charades,
as gentle beams of light throw gold
on grey,
their age we do not know,
perhaps the oldest things unknown,
once molten in a fiery space,
colliding or just flowing,
in magnetism's biding power,
within each tiny grain that makes the whole,
are facets flashing memories of fate,
and where the pressure so extreme
creates a diamond gleam or golden ore,
that men adore,
they know not of their birth,
when earth was young,
unsung in sonnets, poetry,
as all was quiet,
not yet born,
this tiny boney object,
man,
no wonder he,
when dead,
has you to mark his chosen bed,
among the flowers
a timeless symbol,
of their hours.
Critiques
Race_9togo
15 years 12 months ago
Anne
shirley harrison
15 years 12 months ago
Dear Ann
scribbler
15 years 12 months ago
stones
Ravenshakti
15 years 12 months ago
Dear Ann...
xena465
15 years 12 months ago
Ingenious Ann
mand
15 years 12 months ago
All of the above and
sammysew
15 years 12 months ago
Stones
Seren
15 years 12 months ago
Darling Ann
Nordic cloud
15 years 11 months ago
Oh so kind you all are to me.
raj
15 years 11 months ago
Dear Ann
Nordic cloud
15 years 11 months ago
How sweet you are to say so, sublime ocean.
raj
15 years 11 months ago
yes Ann…it all boils down