This poem was written following an intensive men’s weekend retreat. Because
of this emotionally moving event, I was able to visualize my healing path…
journey through the metaphor of a rock. A rock starting its “journey” as “rough”
and “sharp-edged” and progressing to smooth, sparkly, and beautiful
represented the emotional elements of my journey.



I am coarse stone, yearning to be touched,

dreaming of being rounded, smooth, and glassy.

A colorless piece of rubble,

wanting to be held and caressed

while desiring to end up as a cherished part

of someone’s beloved rock collection.


I no longer want to be a sharp-edged rock, isolated and alone,

needing to cut and divide my heart and mind,

bthat have been worn dull by years of disappointment  


Today, I allow myself to toss, turn, and tumble.

To be kicked around.

Stomped into the earth and dug up again.


Season after season,

my ugly stone self is weathered

by fall’s blustery winds,

winter’s freezing blizzards,

spring’s drenching rains,

and summer’s blanching sun.


After a lifetime of never-ending seasons,

I will find myself on a dry riverbed,

where a seasoned stone skipper

recognized my value enough to

sublimely thrown me horizontally

across the glassy river’s surface.


I will be carried downstream

into tumultuous white water,

where I will violently crash

into large and unforgiving boulders.

This crushing, grinding river violence

Will chips away at my sharp stone’s misery.


Smaller and lighter,

I allow myself to erratically moves

 along the river’s silty bottom,

where I will rest and remain dormant

for what seems like an eternity.


After a torrential downpour

of hurricane-like winds,

I am am awakened and violently moved

from my murky, muddy resting place

to reunite with the river’s unpredictable current.


Like a conductor with her orchestra,

the late afternoon sun directs

a once tired sharp edged stone

to sing its sweetest song

of radiance and sparkly colors

so that the boy may recognize

and participate drink in its magnificence. T


Because rivers and storms

always find an amicable solution,

I am eventually placed on a pebbled shore

where a curious child hungrily seeking

the next addition to his beloved rock collection


The boy will witness the orchestration

of the sun’s end-of-day finale.

It’s song sweetly expressed

through newly discovered

sparkly radiant colors,

that before this moment in time,

did not exist.


With the excitement of a grand discovery,

 a rock collecting child will scoop me up,

admire my glassy smooth surface

that sparkles brightly with the colors

only found in the landscape of his dreams.


Me, the once ugly self-love deficient stone

is lovingly deposited in the boy’s shirt pocket,

to remain close to his gently beating heart

where I will always rejoice at my beauty,

as it interacts the another’s arm loving heart



Ross Rosenberg 4/23/06

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