The Stone

What blade of grass has brought me down
To the ground
Some feather perhaps
Has landed on my soul like a boulder
Perhaps I have stumbled again
And I sit here
A strange solid mass of meat
Or perhaps some solid bone
Left from the rib of eve.

Or maybe, I am stone
A brittle stone
Not to be confused with a lava stone
Of which could burn for hours
And heat the still cold mind
But, am I turquoise than
Or am I metal
Some metal that would infect my ears
With its own sound
As I bang my soul against itself
In the hopes I will find who
Or what I have been searching for?

Perchance someone has picked me up
From the floor of heaven
And having shown me to God
He thought me worth building with
And so sent me here
To help build a heart
Build a home
Build a lonely spirit up
And mayhap God knew
How lonely it would be,
For me
Being a stone
Having once supported heavens path
With gratitude for having been tread upon
Because in Heaven everything has value
And everything is counted and known
So that no stone goes unturned
And no stone is without its worth in great riches
And in Heaven each stone knows its worth
Yet here, on the ash bed of my grounded heart
I find myself stuck
And watching the sky change from night to day
And I watch,
Listen and see the stars in the sky
And I remember
How heaven is missing many stones in its floor
And they are with me
I don’t always see them
But I know they are here
And I sometimes hear the angels pray in the sunrise
Because they know they must tread softly
Until the stones of heaven return.

Nice..