Pocket Stone
“I carry it still… just a small stone.”
Found it one day, by the river bend,
Back when I still thought endings meant the end.
It fit my palm like a secret prayer,
A promise that time and love repair.
Years keep tumbling, round and round,
Every scar gets smoothed somehow.
I keep a pocket stone,
For all the storms I’ve known.
It’s proof that even hard hearts mend,
If you hold them long enough again.
Time don’t shout, it hums real low —
Yeah, it wears us down… until we glow.
I’ve skipped that stone across my pain,
Watched circles fade into the rain.
What used to cut now calms instead,
What once was sharp has learned to bend.
Gentle hands, the quiet kind,
Turn the roughest years to shine.
I keep a pocket stone,
For all the storms I’ve known.
It’s proof that even hard hearts mend,
If you hold them long enough again.
Time don’t shout, it hums real low —
Yeah, it wears us down… until we glow.
We’re all getting polished, one day at a time.
Don’t fight the river — learn the rhyme.
Every fall, every scrape, every bruise, every tone…
It’s just the sound… of finding home.
I keep a pocket stone,
It reminds me I’m not alone.
The hardest things don’t break — they blend,
Time just softens what it can’t mend.
And I hum that truth when I walk alone…
Yeah, I shine now — like my pocket stone.
“Some things don’t need fixing… they just need time.”
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