on this morning grey
just before the dawn
wakes up shell-pink, sleepy
and pokes out her head
from heathery hillsides
i think about stones
that choke every grave’s throat
to seal in what died
and ward we the living
from death’s steely touch.
hopes, dreams, and best efforts
shipwrecked relationships
killed by the sword-thrusts
of one-eyed sword masters
who wield their tongue cruel
and sharper than death
to slaughter what’s wounded
in time and by tears
and the enemy capers
in Opposite-joy….
indifferences, sicknesses
unto death both
end up in the grave
and stones are placed there
to protect us here.
but today I wander
thru fields wet and wild
I press past the burrs
and the thorns in the thunder
to find the grey gravestones
so stolid and still
just over that hill…
and rolled away stones
never cease to amaze me
because they will not budge
when I lean on them
or when I lean on Them…
the work of a Digger
the work of a Builder
the work of a Healer
the work of a Surgeon
the work of a Lover
Rolled Away Stones
Charissa's Grace Notes 
Beautiful, love your poem .
thank you sooo very much. I am quite tender and bleeding this morning, and walking on water towards hope. I don’t trust the waves at my feet, but I trust the shore to be there…way over there.
Beautiful images in this, Charissa.
Thank you so very much ❤
Loving this, sweetie:
“but today I wander
thru fields wet and wild
I press past the burrs
and the thorns in the thunder
to find the grey gravestones
so stolid and still
just over that hill…
and rolled away stones
never cease to amaze me
because they will not budge
when I lean on them
or when I lean on Them…”
The hush of you.
The thunder of Them.
Thank you, Dani…writer of talent and ability. Coming from you, this sort of comment is gold to me.
❤