Healing Stones

The healing stones rest. Fondled and smoothed by Fingers as gently as Hail Mary beads, Of those seeking grace- Questing new life, Stilled by hands uncertain of Direction or destiny, begging to rise Like the Phoenix from fiery ashes. The colors of agates, crystals, And rose quartz, erased and tossed Into brackish waters, lashing at the Seaside, salty on tongues which Speak to mythical Gods, crouching and Praying on knees with Bowed heads, requesting miracles... Sometimes answered- Sometimes not. Uncertainty soaked in blood and stains of Grassy patches drift outward, Sealed in jars, wedged in ghost ship gallows, To be tasted by sea nymphs, mermaids, and Caught by fishermen, casting reels off wooden bridges. When opened- A breath, a whisper, a sigh escapes And drifts along corals, swallowed up then spit back. The Queen of Hearts, the dreamers, All with black diamond crowns, Scribbling journal entries will await with nets on Coasts of oceans and impatient streams.