Rock Upon Stone

In the name of sanity,

to be a modern man,

or to be inside a stone,

that is a worthy question.

Let others become eagles and doves,

gnash with a lion’s fang,

or be a salmon swimming upriver dodging a bear’s thrust.

While to be a rock…

From the outside,

the rocks journey into existence

is a conundrum of guesses,

for it might have spent many days rolling

through ocean depths,

or tumbling endlessly from a mountain peak.

Yet within…

Might it be calm, cool, and quiet,

even as a bull treads on it full weight,

or a child skim-throws it across waters of a lake,

gradually sinking slowly untroubled

to the bottom where fish fins knock on it…

and listen?

Because sparks fly from rubbing rock on stone,

might there be energy inside,

perhaps an inert moon shining from Somewhere’s history,

perhaps frozen in time from behind the mountain of its birth,

giving just enough light to make visible

the strange writings and drawings,

and star graphics on the cool, calm

and peaceful walls,

save for the arc of

an unidentified flying streak of light?