I stood upon
blades of grass
at the edge
of a slate-green pool.
The stale pond hid
unknown depths,
refusing even the blue
of the sky's canopy.
Smooth and worn,
hard and cold,
I pluck a stone
from the earth.
It fits my mood
and my fist.
I let it arc
into the wind.
Gravity conspired
with my intent,
aiding my
thoughtless
rebellion.
I am here--
the rock said.
I am real--
I am--
Plunk!
Lost as a rock,
swallowed by the universe.
The rings upon the surface
fade and die.
I need a bigger rock.
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I really LOVE this!
A fine grasp of the concept
(pun perhaps intended!)
and a great concluding line.
(Is that a typo in "the sky's canopy"?)
:)
Lary