Speaking Stone © Poem by Roann Mendriq

If stones could only tell a tale,
of all they had endured;
Perhaps the truth would then prevail,
grief could then be cured.

A stone is ground and honed to shine,
Crushed to find its form and shape;
By wisdom of the powers divine,
a sublime, broken, hard escape.

Every stone that's drenched in dust,
was once a mountain core;
and like those stones, break we must,
If we're to live for evermore.

For it is only when we break,
that we are free from all heartache.