A Poem for Hidden Gems


Make me over a stone on the roll, trample and shake off old moss

The waste and detritus, it flies away, a most agreeable loss

Burnished and polished old bones, sharp edges shorn like quartz

Over and under as downward I tumble with such magnificent force

Fall of perfecting descent, a further decline toward great rise

Soon you'll see through the remnants new body that now never dies

Emerging from out of the bramble, gleaming as expertly honed

Of worth on par with most precious gems, I am that glorious stone

Toppled over into the mire, now grimy and covered in muck

Where goes my wonderful sheen, to the mud in which I am stuck

The end of fortuitous journey an ignominious rest

What once was regarded as worthless is again an inglorious mess

In spite of laborious travel, chipped away at by hardship and pain

Seems almost unthinkable to the stone to find itself back here again

The meaning of all of my rolling, its purpose being no longer known

Your eye will not now rest upon me, I am that forgotten stone

Grown weary from much fruitless hoping for things not now daring to ask

But providence had an intention to bring the stone along this path

A celestial hand reached down from on high to gather up stones for a task

Carried away is the forgotten stone, to be shaped by the master's craft

Ground and sculpted, chiseled and chafed, but can the stone endure

Will it crumble to dust from the pressure or refine into something more pure

The stone is given new radiance, then set upon a pronged throne

And presented to one as a gift of grace, I am that faceted stone

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Daniel Cole

Author and artist, I'm finding my spirit again late in life. Old passions for poetry borne of love, loss, hope and pain, things with which everyone is familiar.

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