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Stone's Play
In its natural forms, they are all stones,
Humans assign their names alone.
Grouped and valued, given a worth,
As if deciding which is most precious from birth.
Some are kept in glass cases, on display,
Others placed upon heads, a display.
Some are trodden underfoot, shattered and crushed,
Thrown like a child's playful thrust.
Thrown even at those who curse and swear,
Truly, there's no value declared.
Yet those trampled become life's foundation,
Companions in burial, a guide in cessation.
When no longer a name can be uttered,
Alas, they cry out, but voices are smothered.
If God granted stones a heart so firm,
I believe you'd still trample them in return.
© 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎𝑤𝑖𝑐𝑐𝑎
Humans assign their names alone.
Grouped and valued, given a worth,
As if deciding which is most precious from birth.
Some are kept in glass cases, on display,
Others placed upon heads, a display.
Some are trodden underfoot, shattered and crushed,
Thrown like a child's playful thrust.
Thrown even at those who curse and swear,
Truly, there's no value declared.
Yet those trampled become life's foundation,
Companions in burial, a guide in cessation.
When no longer a name can be uttered,
Alas, they cry out, but voices are smothered.
If God granted stones a heart so firm,
I believe you'd still trample them in return.
© 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎𝑤𝑖𝑐𝑐𝑎
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