stones: by Kester

Stones

If we could all
just stop throwing stones,
and stoop, knees bent
and write in the dust,

we’d see that the dust
was once stone -
grand, and hard, and proud, and tough -
now ground and dissolved
in grace and tears.

So… how much better
to be a grain of dirt
on that kind prophet’s hands
than a stone
in the cold, accusing Temple
of the pure.

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