Rock

Rock
By Quizmo LaGrande

A rock is but a hard place
Loose, solid bit of ground.
Some smooth, gently symmetrical,
Most coarse with jagged pound.

My rock is wedged and heaved and marred,
Chiseled, chipped and thrown;
My rock is but a fragment
Of this life I see as stone.

Oft times sun of cherished rising,
Reflects lonely bits of gold;
A shimmering in wonder,
Such beauty to behold.

In sadness of the evening
My stone will lie in state;
Though dusk’s colors swirl of heaven
Rock’s dark shadows permeate

The wanting of my being
To hide away and cry;
The longing of my soul
To rise above and fly

Past illusion’s darkness
Beyond the cold and blown,
O’er cliffs of trepidation
O’er rocks of falling stone.