Post by annbkeller on Jul 31, 2008 5:08:45 GMT -5
COBBLESTONES
My life is a cobblestone highway,
Filled with dips, many valleys and hollows,
Scraped raw by those racing for glory,
Glancing not at those riddled by sorrows.
Tears well in my cracked, torn macadam,
Flowing down to the sea in a torrent,
Wasted dreams, hopes and wishes collapsing
Lying limp in a cesspool abhorrent.
All blistered and broken in pieces,
I dissolve as the travelers roam,
Neath the puffy white clouds where the wild hawks do call
And the bleating gray sheep scurry home.
Washed in raindrops and slashed by sleet’s tickle,
I struggle to raise my wee head,
Keeping body and soul together,
As the storm lashes me in their stead.
Beaten down, near consumed by life’s struggle,
I bend like a willow near a brook,
Road menders would cringe ere they stood in my place.
One glance would be all that it took.
Do your worst! Heap adversity upon me,
Till I crumble back into the soil,
For the Earth shelters me like a mother
Free from care, weariness and all toil.
Still, a cobble is made from such pieces,
Fashioned hard by the passage of time,
Till the fragments are molded together
Covered over with flowers in their prime.
Now the rock is shattered from cliff side,
Steeply cut with a chisel and hammer,
Blasted free by a box of black powder,
With no glitter, no glory or glamour.
By the dozen, the cobbles are gathered,
Prepared for the highway so broad,
Marked in place for the world weary traveler
To bump him along with a nod.
Pieced together, they serve greater purpose
Are molded and shaped with the hand,
Buttressed by fellows at their shoulders
Stronger than one do they stand.
Alone, I may serve little purpose,
But my brothers can only make me stronger,
Like the cobbles, alone, I am nothing
But together, we stand ever stronger.
My life is a cobblestone highway,
Filled with dips, many valleys and hollows,
Scraped raw by those racing for glory,
Glancing not at those riddled by sorrows.
Tears well in my cracked, torn macadam,
Flowing down to the sea in a torrent,
Wasted dreams, hopes and wishes collapsing
Lying limp in a cesspool abhorrent.
All blistered and broken in pieces,
I dissolve as the travelers roam,
Neath the puffy white clouds where the wild hawks do call
And the bleating gray sheep scurry home.
Washed in raindrops and slashed by sleet’s tickle,
I struggle to raise my wee head,
Keeping body and soul together,
As the storm lashes me in their stead.
Beaten down, near consumed by life’s struggle,
I bend like a willow near a brook,
Road menders would cringe ere they stood in my place.
One glance would be all that it took.
Do your worst! Heap adversity upon me,
Till I crumble back into the soil,
For the Earth shelters me like a mother
Free from care, weariness and all toil.
Still, a cobble is made from such pieces,
Fashioned hard by the passage of time,
Till the fragments are molded together
Covered over with flowers in their prime.
Now the rock is shattered from cliff side,
Steeply cut with a chisel and hammer,
Blasted free by a box of black powder,
With no glitter, no glory or glamour.
By the dozen, the cobbles are gathered,
Prepared for the highway so broad,
Marked in place for the world weary traveler
To bump him along with a nod.
Pieced together, they serve greater purpose
Are molded and shaped with the hand,
Buttressed by fellows at their shoulders
Stronger than one do they stand.
Alone, I may serve little purpose,
But my brothers can only make me stronger,
Like the cobbles, alone, I am nothing
But together, we stand ever stronger.