The stone knows.

The stone was born from the savage heat that scorns our flesh

The stone was shaped by the cool life breeze

(The stone takes change one breath at a time, too)

Stirred from passive rest, we are called to roll

The heavens shake us to action,

shouting prophetic warnings,

blasting apart the very ground we rest upon.

The stone was tossed by waves; careless as ignorance

The stone landed on sands; compassionate as criticism

He turns over the smooth weight in his hand, again, and again.

It is placed, so gently, on the tallest tower

of his sandy castle walls, earning a subtle place in his heart.

He wonders, wishes – if only this stone understood!

If only he knew what the stone knows.

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