It sat there, dumb and calm,
a lump the size of hope,
nestled in its box, breathing holes—
a joke with instructions on care.
This stone, this silent being, unloved
before, was now cradled in hands,
eyes squinting at smooth gray,
searching for its undeniable charm.
Children whispered dreams to it,
adults smirked and laughed aloud,
the absurdity a comfort, cheap
and clean, no bark, no bite.
The world held it close, smiling
at its stillness, its lack of hunger,
no leash or litter, just weight,
the perfect mirror of empty.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: May 12th, 2025 11:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments3
Such a great metaphor and message. Lovely
A lump the size of Hope! I will forever now see the rocks with messages and the small bits of tactile stress reliever stone differently after reading your poem! I do have a few rocks painted with love from my children on a shelf. Perhaps I should take a moment to hold them closer!
Dang! But I used to dearly cherish those smooth rocks, the odd ones, the strangely coloured ones, etc. No secrets of mine were shared with the dead things, but they were certainly lovely and too charming. That aside, this is a pretty number, beautifully rendered with excellent imagery and a sweet poignancy. Thank you for sharing.
Thank You Missy for sharing your feedback on my work
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