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(June 8, 1915 – November 19, 2011)

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Look to the Future

To you born into violence,
the wars of the red ant are nothing;
you, in the heart of the eruption.

I am speaking from immeasurable grass blades.
You, there on the rubble,
what is the river of vapor to you?

You who are helpless as small birds
downed on the ice pack.
You who are spoiled as
commercial fruit by the medfly.

To you the machine guns.
To you the semen of fire,
the birth of the maggot in the corpse.

You, to whom we send these gifts;
at the heart of light we are crushed together.
When the sun dies we will become one.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Edited: Tuesday, December 27, 2011


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Comments about this poem (Speculation by Ruth Stone )

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  • Dash Black (9/14/2013 1:53:00 PM)

    Again Stone steals my heart, reading your pieces is always great! RIP

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  • Dash Black (1/25/2012 7:47:00 AM)

    Ruth Stone you've become one of my favorites in just a few minutes. What a crush!

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