Monday, February 29, 2016

Gerald Bosacker- A Poem

Majestic peaks, wrinkle and turn old
shedding rocks eager to roll with the cold,
sunshine adsorbing transmuted snow
destined for something, somewhere below.
Vagrant rocks will crash and crumble,
shake off their armor as they tumble
seeking freedom in the mountain stream.
In waters, nacreous they gleam
with their drab exterior worn away.
Exposed, mute words they try to say
about their strange tumultuous birth.
From volcanoes and upheavals, Earth
spit out rock as melted magma chilled
in crystallized form, a destiny fulfilled.
Proud stone, will not keep its grain,
assaulted by wind or ice and sun or rain.
Downstream, rocks turn into stones and
then to pebbles, lastly to finest sand.
Did humbled, crumbled rock know it was fated
to be compacted, smelted and re-circulated,
to rise again in another majestic peak,
when first it tumbled down the mountain's creek. 

The story of life and death, in written in ancient stone. The future eventually becomes the past, and is locked in stone. Everything we own or know is impermanent, but will come back again in some resurrected form, including life itself. Pick up a stone, hold it to your ear and listen to its history.


  1. I now feel a stone has magic powers. Everything in nature does when I think about it. Very good poem.

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