Small, Black Stone Poem by David Welch

A small black stone
painted red,
born of Heaven,
left for dead.

Kicked and shorn,
blasted smooth,
pocked with fractures,
Riddled grooves.

Ground to pieces,
sold as dust,
used as potion,
balm of lust.

Swallowed nightly,
clouds the mind,
settles slowly
in the spine.

Lays with fallen
in the Earth,
aeons trudge,
petrified rebirth.

A small black fossil,
painted gray,
born of heaven,
born of me.