Rocks In The Stream - Poem by elysabeth faslund
Bright water, sun water, sluicing round
Grey mists, gay mists, bouncing back
As rain on
Is the rock etched...
Does it celebrate wind, waves,
Glad to be grounded
To the Earth...
Is it of the Earth...or,
Merely effected by
The air it lost the ability to breathe...
As once rocks, inner occupants, breathed
Little waves, little mists...
Crawled paths on ocean floors...
Displacing mud to fossil...
Hearing, feeling, summons, 'Come here
To regret land...come here.'
Grey rock, smothered...contrived...
Were you the first deceived...
First owner of the Great Lie?
First resurrected to
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