Subjective Processing

In my hand i hold three stones,
The smoothest pebbles,
Familiar to my hands…,
Their rounded weightedness.
i cast them upon a rak-ed bed,
Scatter them in the dusty field
Like David's sling upon Goliaths furrowed brow.
The smooth plain is ruffled by their fall.

I think,"Me thinks these be
The very stars of Orion's belt!"
Scattered in that velvety blackness,
Twinkling, untouchable points of light.

But these three i touch,
Caressing with a familiar stroke,
An outstretched arm….,
A quivering, fingertip thrill.
And then the dusty fields swim away,
And i wheel and turn in the depths of Space
My three stars deep within my thought and mind,
Floating in my bosom's beating heart,
Before me like some frightened, caged birds,
Floating as i float in reverie.
And every link is chained
to my 3 stones.
The stars are bound through me
To ordinary rock,

And by these ropes i hope to bind the very heavens!
What! With three mere insignificant fragments
And a bounding imagination?

My three stones do symbolise,
What is within
And what is Without.


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