The Pebble

author's note:

This poem seems appropriate for our times.


THE PEBBLE

As stallions of bruised-black clouds
rushed toward my shore from the ocean horizon...

I thanked my stars I'd found
that boulder on the beach--
a cleft on its leeward side
opened to a secret chamber:
a womb for me--a sacred space
where I could sit in safety...
in peaceful solitude

and indeed
as I hunkered down inside
I felt secure
even as the tide rose
even as the wind rose
even as pellets of rain
shot down on the rock roof
I felt secure.

But that ocean seemed determined
to wreck my calm:
though I tried to reassure myself
I could not ignore the force
of its repetitive threats--
on the count of three
a wave would explode
against the rock-side:
those booming blasts
soon broke into
my body, my mind, my heart.

So, in desperation
I dove down into my dark depths

praying I might find
a solid stone foundation

but no--
I could only locate a little pebble.

But since I had nothing else
to hold, I held it
with the all fierceness
of my spirit.

I'd stopped struggling
to kill my fear--
now, I just hoped to endure:

sometimes, we must go so low
for our higher education--
consider the end:

when I'd become nothing more
than that tiny stone
a big blow shattered the boulder
into shards

and I found myself standing
on sunny beach
as modest waves retreated.

Stunned I was, but closer to peace--
having gained this foundational wisdom:

rock walls can not protect us
from the destruction of storms...

only our own little stones.

© 2017, Michael R. Patton
listening to silence: a poetry book