The Power of Poetry

The Gift of Time

The stone square’s a wonderful thing,

It offers us protection from the fear of change. It’s made from the emblem that we all wear on our sleeve, Of failure and frustration and lack of love. It’s the mark of our time. It’s the proof of our pain. But in reality, it’s nothing but a sad joke. This is what we’ve painted on the very walls that we’ve made, Of desperate gluttony and starving greed. And they say they will never run out - Their supply holds back the tide - But I don’t believe them. I’m not a fool! It’s our own responsibility that no rock can withstand.

A sliver of warmth like a whisper, an echo from a time when this place was a home. I’m made of stone. This town square is my home; we’re stones in each other’s corners and cracks in these walls that have broken through time itself to be here with one another once again.

They say time is cyclical. But what am I compared to for eternity? A small black stone in a vast expanse of geometry and mortar is this place that always was and always will be, a creation of its own making over long years.

A reminder of the times we shared and all that flows from those times. It feels like a river, but it isn’t one. What it takes is stones bound together by mortar.

But a person is more than just a stone. I may change and evolve over time, but this is the first time I’ve ever been here, and it feels like home.

The black square is cold.

So I say — what is this place if not home? A piece of that stone square that has always been, and always will be. The true meaning of the stone square is not the stones themselves but the feelings they carry in their cracks and fissures — those tiny pieces of ourselves we left behind.

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Poetry is everywhere 💚 But the question is, how much do you love it?