a rugged rock

shapeless and course

spawned from a mountain

rolling with gravitational force

 

granite, clashing with others,

chipping, grinding, pounded,

a rolling stone becomes

well rounded

 

by Art~

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(okay, today I would like to ask for your help. I have two versions of this poem, the original and the extremely edited version (the version you just read) Now, here is the poem that originally began. This is the poem that I wrote after going for a walk with the dog and I found a well rounded rock at my feet. Contemplating how many years it took this rock to become so perfectly round, spawned the poem. This will give me an idea rather condensed (haiku like/zen) is truely better than long and drawn out (prose/story).)

Which poem do you like… poem number one

or, poem number two

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a stone
spawned from a mountain
rugged, shapeless and course
plucked by the hands of fate
cast down, clashing
with others of its kind
free falling from a slopes will
eventually submerged
in a river’s dreaded bed

Time toils
irritated by sand and water
pushed around by the current
tossed about, churning
a rolling stone, traveling
bumping into
other speechless rocks
chipping the blocks
off of cold shoulders

settling near
a boulders embrace
where pebbles mingle
decades of stillness, meditation
sun baked days and icy nights
turmoil of grit and mud
pressured by a rapid stream
to uproot and move
a journey guided by gravity

the mountain’s pearl
aged with perseverance
time and patience mastered
tempered by elements
a rolling stone
becomes,
well rounded

Art~

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thank you…

 may your day not be so rocky!