Stone
Rough, hard surface,
In the riverbanks they rest motionless.
Neither heat or cold can break it.
Only floods, strong enough to carry it
Into far away places where they will again rest.
But be wary,
For only sharp things can pierce through it.
The once beautiful surface can never be reshaped again.
However, before our eyes aren't two or more weak pieces.
Rather two equally strong relics.
Oh I wish I was a stone,
That even if life split me into thousand shards,
I'll find strength from my broken pieces.
Not whole, but beautiful nonetheless.
March 26, 2020
2:10PM