I am a stone tossed into the rushing river
ready to be hidden and forgotten
disappearing where there is no memory
and late at night when everyone else
is calming and secure, the waters rushing over me
won’t be enough to wash away my sin and sediment.
I am a stone thrown by the child’s hand
aiming to skip but gouging at the water
and briefly, just ever so briefly, struggling to fly
my splash is of no consequence, no ripples
my wake succumbs to the silky churn of the waterway
where no thoughts can compel another end.
I am as a pebble in a strongman’s hand
no connections or care slow his effort to govern
fears and ways so he’ll be remembered as great
and when I sink obscurely along with many others
we are useful to his ends, his dream to be remembered
resistance is futile, will and passion only frustrate.
I am a stone once here, then nowhere
once sinking slowly, now nowhere else to go
so promising, so imaginative, so hope-drunk
my dreams linger as reflections on the underside
of eddies you see but ignore as fanciful fits of nature
as my story plays on above me, out of reach.