Darren White Poet Free verse

What Turned To Stone

"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?"
- T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land.

Who tries to grow out of this cold.
Unfolding wings from nothing,
  nurtured with meager protection,
    nourished with watery milk.
                           Whose fingers try to burrow
                           the dry clay, the impenetrable rock.
              Who wants to excavate what turned
              to stone?

In preservation conservation hides,
                           in self protection arms as withered
                   branches wrap around what turned
        to stone, knowing that deep inside
one little ember glows, still glows.
        There one small drop of water
                   remains, once a pool in polished
                             rounded slab of stone, rubble,
remaining consciousness

This is what grows, 
this is one seed of hope, one
tiny root, one drop of water, one 
cinder of warmth, one knowing  once 
belonged to a  field of glacier. While 
only cold remains in once warm 
heart that blindly searches, 
searches.

***

March 25, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White

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Agnes Krampe March 30, 2017 at 8:31 AM Great poem, Darren, and lovely message. Sorry to hear you're in the ICU - sending all the best wishes. Darren White March 31, 2017 at 12:07 AM Thank you Agnes, I hope I can move to a normal hospital wing soon :)

White Wolf March 28, 2017 at 4:40 AM I turned to your page while you are in ICU. But never expected this! You are amazing mate! Absolutely jaw dropping poetry! White Wolf March 31, 2017 at 1:55 AM Nothing can stop you, my friend! /|\ Darren White March 30, 2017 at 4:21 AM still in icu but i can write again budgie, and thank you

Pashang Salehi March 26, 2017 at 6:04 PM From your poem I turned to stone.... Come and find me I'm alone... Darren White March 30, 2017 at 4:21 AM i will Pashang :)

Arthur Vaso March 26, 2017 at 3:58 PM Stunning, you are a true poet! I am at a loss for words! Darren White March 30, 2017 at 4:20 AM we will find outr words again when i have energy to comr join your chat :)

Doug Vinson March 26, 2017 at 2:15 PM Cool, Darren. Eliot's 'The Waste Land' - has some monumentally great lines. Call me a philistine, perhaps, but I think it goes on too long, tries to do too much. Many, many people think "greatest poem ever," but I cannot agree. Darren White March 30, 2017 at 4:20 AM thtat's ok doug and i don't disagree at all :)

Emile Pinet March 25, 2017 at 12:42 PM Your work shouts of a subtle wisdom gently distributed throughout your poem. Emile. Darren White March 25, 2017 at 1:04 PM Emile, thank you so very much for your kind words :)

Sunlite Wanter March 25, 2017 at 12:23 PM Hopefully, the searching heart will finally be still and let the seed grow. Beautiful poem. Darren White March 25, 2017 at 12:33 PM I hope so too, Thank you Sunlite :)

Anil Deo March 25, 2017 at 11:42 AM Enjoyed this free verse (what my long-ago class termed CONCRETE VERSE/poem). It speaks to me of nature or people, however smothered or wilting due to factors like neglect, harbor a spark of life (God?) and life always surprises us with resilience. Thanks for sharing, Poet Darren White. Darren White March 25, 2017 at 1:01 PM We have the Concrete form here, on Soup. But it is only one part of my poem (the last one) that can count as a concrete. But thank you so much for your comments :)