Stone Is The Flower

A weird poem that came to me after seeing some fossil flowers at a science museum

-Stone Is The Flower-
by Keaton Foster


Stone
Is the flower,
Forever frozen
In igneous matter.
How did it happen?
The greater question
Is why.

I ponder it well
As I study each detail.
Oh, the hell!
Along came the flame,
Wicked in its way,
Burning everything down,
Devastating
All that stood around,
Except the flower,
Left untouched.

Then came the heat,
Instantly incinerating
All that remained.
Then came
The molten rock,
Flowing downstream
Toward a distant sea.

Creation and destruction,
A god unto itself,
Forming land masses,
Shaping shifting terrains.
From the peak of creation,
It levels the playing field
For the endless contest
Of what survives
And what fades away.

Stone
Is the flower,
Wild it once was,
Carelessly it dreamed,
Its beauty bled.
Now,
It is something else,
A frozen echo
Of its former self,
Encased
In igneous rock,
A perfect specimen,
Forever preserved.

Nothing could ever change
Its magnificence.
Upon some shelf,
It will no doubt sit,
A lasting example
Of how things transform
And how they endure.

Stone
Is the flower.
I found it,
But in no way
Does it belong to me…


Stone Is The Flower
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2015.