The Parable of the Stone

There was a stone,
a hard and hearty rock
who would not mock
nor weep, nor cheer or groan
a Stoic of his cynicism made
to be the grade of many a rolling road.

But life rolls on and he rolled down
Down to the sea in slips and slides of sand
to be the floor of oceans, where none walked
and, sunlight swallowed, reigns eternal Night
to coax the ones who carry their own light.

Then under, deep subduction makes him hot
from friction and the pressure, stone forgot
his stiffness, let it go, began to flow
to flow, perchance to glow, to magma cooked
the stone flowed into others, merged, this drop
became the Ocean of a flood of flame

the stone no longer rests within his glade;
the Earth has taken him into her arms
and healed his solitude; but every day
around the world volcanoes have their say
ejecting, growing, bringing from below
the stuff of rocks and boulders drawn
from magma’s peace, and cooled to rock anew

we’ve seen the arc; a rock is not alone
but droplet in the river of the stone.

—MRK Novermber 2, 2011

Twitter Digg Facebook linked-in Yahoo Buzz StumbleUpon

Leave a Reply

Spam protection by WP Captcha-Free