The Last Rock
I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind...
I know not where I'm headed to,
the sage's advice, my only clue :
"Enlightenment is now in your hands,
take much heed when you let it land..."
One magic rock was crimson blood,
turned fiery hot when it glowed--
I could not help but drop it,
the ground it struck was lit
The flames began to form images,
of war, of humanity enraged,
showed what happened when anger ruled,
when greed turned men to fools
The second rock was pearly white,
turned ice cold when its light died,
my hand stung, and so I let it fall,
rippling the lake, and I was enthralled...
Distorted images came to view,
of moralities askewed,
it chilled my soul to realize
this world has been desensitized
The last rock, alas was bleak and grey,
rough in my hands where it lay...
I wondered what other horrors it had in store,
so I knelt on my knees and prayed to the Lord...
I sought for forgiveness, for times gone astray,
asked for strength and courage, to find the way...
thanked Him for all the blessings I often neglect,
then ended with praises, and a genuflect
I unclasped my hands, the grey rock slipped below
it landed with a soft thud, then it started to glow
It showed me a place where three crosses stood,
then it was clear to me, I fully understood...
The plainest rock was the most precious one,
a silent witness on that fateful day
when the Son's blood was shed, so we can all be saved.
**The first three lines are not my own, but that of Constance La France's...
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