Interview with a Stone

Interview with a Stone


Stumbling along the wet, rocky trail
Watching my steps with care,

The glint of an otherwise plain stone,
Caught my eye, bade me ask of it's lineage.

Had your Grandfather witnessed the molten beginnings,
The fiery, metamorphosis of crust into the now familiar landscape?

Were your brothers adorned with the paintings of ancients,
Those indelible bison and gazelles of antiquity?

Were your cousins piled high to form kingly tombs?
Perhaps your sisters were etched by the hand of god,
To shape the consciousness of man.

It lay there in the mud, a fat, silent Buddha.
It was after all but a stone.