The Good Stone
How foolish of me to search for perfect peace.
A place where the heart can easily breathe.
Foolish to think that "things" calm the mind.
Unwind the tangles of the ID - battered life.
Does each good deed polish a rough stone?
To be used to make a path toward heaven's abode.
Does each foul thought or deed remove that stone...
Leave the soul in the brambles of selfish undergrowth.
To create or break down, those are the choices.
Am I to be an asset to life and a gift to mankind,
A bird that brings an olive branch of good intent.
Or a predator with cheshire smile and bloody hands.
How many good stones have I laid down thus far?
My steps have gathered brambles, not tapping toward stars.
There exists a pure peace but never found in this realm.
Nesting in ripples of heaven-so very far from this half a hell.
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