Dillon Cranston

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The Best Poem Of Dillon Cranston

Skipping A Stone

My youth went like the flame at the tip of a match.
Snowed hills caved in, the beach sands blew away,
Leaving behind the pleasant smell of sulfur,
And the feeling that there should have been more.

It went much like the Middle Ages,
When all at once, I hung up my sword in a museum,
And closeted away the armor I once wore on crusades,
Suddenly missing the days spent in the shade of an olive tree,
And wandering between the villas, not having to turn a head
To check for oncoming cars.

My children, too, grew up
Like a stone, skipping across a pond.
Each birthday party, another tap against the water,
Until all that remained were the ripples,
Stretching out slowly,
And smoothed over by a passing breeze

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