Stone Age Poems | Examples
These Stone Age poems are examples of Age poems about Stone. These are the best examples of Age Stone poems written by international poets.
Midnight draped darkness around like a shroud
The silence though was like stone on air
'Twas paused by ambulance's weighted cloud
Our vows once spoken, now beyond despair
Now night seems to press in upon my hand
Shadows fill corners of my old worn mind
Then a spark springs forth that needs to be fanned
That tiny light spark knows hope I'll soon find
Once buried seed dreams of spring's sun warm glow
Deep within, silent faith endures long, strong
My hope and faith are not fragile, but flow
Whisper, come forth let your love go in song
Dark that enshrouded me release today
My heart has some hope and will find a way
We carve our names upon the shifting stone,
To leave a trace before our breath is spent,
A spark of mind against the dark unknown,
Built from the dreams of every life we lent.
The monuments of pride are bowed and bent,
Yet quiet truths survive the heavy rust,
A child will learn the words their elders meant,
And lift a noble purpose from the dust.
Through changing years we hold a sacred trust,
To pass the flame before our eyes grow dim,
Picture a mark of the ages, deep and just,
And sing the future in a rising hymn.
Though flesh must fade and earthly empires fall,
The love we shape endures beyond us all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gray hair
whispers secrets
to the wind. Each strand remembers
storms weathered—
how roots hold deeper
with time.
Lines map
the face like rivers
carving truth through softest stone.
Patience flows
where youth rushed blindly—
still pools.
Hands tremble
not from weakness, no—
they measure weight of moments
held lightly.
Old eyes see clearer
in dusk.
Regret?
Folded like letters
in a drawer. Wisdom keeps them
unread, yet
knows each crease by heart—
peace blooms.
The oak
stands tall not by force,
but knowing when to bend. Age
teaches this:
strength lives in yielding—
soft ground.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I.
my spine, a slow bow
osteoporosis bent~
silent architect
turning collarbones to stone
mirrors lie, but spines profess.
II.
velvet cloak draped low,
hides what the disease has built~
a secret mountain
where pride and carriage crumble.
sunlight warms my crooked peak.
*NOTE: A dowager’s hump, also known as a widow's hump, is a condition characterized by an excessive forward curvature of the upper spine, often resulting in a noticeable hump at the base of the neck. It is commonly associated with osteoporosis and/or poor posture, particularly in older adults. (source: spineinstituteoftexas.com)
You were once a seed,
now, just a forgotten weed,
withered and old,
slowly growing cold.
Don't turn your heart to stone.
She too flies all alone.
Flying far above
with a heart of love.
She's no ordinary,
strange tooth fairy,
beyond the Twilight Zone,
spirit of dreams and bones.
Connections in mirrors that aren’t there. But in reflection they shine like they don’t care.
Does mud and stone hold on to our memories?
At night when we hear sounds of decades gone, oh sometimes too clearly.
Starlight shows us places we’ll never see.
The trees rings speak of ages in which we’ll never be.
The oceans’ tides have witnessed our history.
There’s something in the air that we can’t see.
A glimpse between life now and of the past.
A split second triggers memories we hold fast.
Memories of lives in history?
Our we connected to the world in ways that we can’t see?
Today, she sits alone,
with her thoughts unknown...and sighs.
Before her lies a stone.
The weeds are overgrown. She cries.
A lark lights where sun once shone -
a mem'ry the wind has blown. It flies.
Written: November 22, 2023, For Line Gauthier Contest
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Molded in the blaze of the esoteric Earth
Metamorphosed from stone to a shape of worth
I will never ever evolve old
As long as I possess a heart of Gold.
Peeked over the edge of Monday
Weary…eyes blinking, birds chirping
Spoke to the Keurig: “black, no sugar”
It growled back, slowly.
It seemed to be saying:
“Never go jogging with a 2 year old”
How can someone with legs that short
Be that quick….and curious…
Every stone a mystery
Every flower an invitation
Every moment an inspiration.
When he shouts: “PAPA!!”
The kid inside me starts dancing.
John G. Lawless
©5/8/2023
As blaze of August fades into the Fall
horizons new have burned and turned to ash
and textures of the change of seasons clash,
a plague of frost becomes a rose’s pall.
The supple smooth confronts the brittle break
as petals silk matures a wrinkled skin
and winter’s snow to bury sins begin —
a fallen cloud the shroud for briar’s wake.
The days of glory sun and ruby rays,
across the skies, these hues were once my own,
beneath the blue above the green, my fling...
dressed not but strands of dew in solstice haze.
When youth was sown my roots were honed in stone
I died… but I will rise again in Spring!
The stone that felled the Philistine
Was just a common river stone,
Worn smooth by the waters of the Jordan
Over years of being eroded and diminished,
Weathering the turbulence of existence
With stoic indifference.
It was just another rock,
Undistinguished by its nature,
Until that day it fostered legend,
Being useful for the tumult it endured.
Remember that the next time
You’re feeling old, tired, and useless.
You may yet come to be handy
In service of some noble endeavor
Because of having been so harshly fashioned,
And so smoothly polished.
"To everything there is a season
And a time for every purpose under heaven."
Change is like a rolling stone,
It moves on and on and on,
It's never still, never the same,
It's ever-changing, ever-growing.
It can be scary and unknown,
But it can also bring joy and hope,
It can be a chance to start anew,
And leave the old and broken.
It can be hard to go with the flow,
But it's a part of life, and it's true,
So embrace it and don't be afraid,
For change is the only constant thing.
Blindful, mindful you
partake of yourself blissful
leave no stone unturned
She poured makeup on her face,
Thinking she had beauty and Grace,
She was too young,
And had no fully grown body lung,
But she loved being pretty just the same,
As her mother came,
She was running in order to be popular,
With her eyes popping in color,
She was running as fast as she can to not get caught,
She was afraid her mom would teach her a lesson,
And get really mad,
And Well she wasn’t glad,
But she wasn’t angry,
She told her just don’t do it again.
By the time I'm somebody
I'll be picking out a stone
I'm headed in a dash
To forgetful(or alone)
I’ll be better parted
If I took the time to see
The chisel and the hammer
Wanted a picture(not of me)
I'll wait with no excuses
If the taker wants a loan
It's under and I'm over
(With no data on my phone)
I'll see the ordinary
Yet the claim is simply put
The plot, the page and rescues
Were a screenplay(with a But?)
I will ease into an easy
Yet a lay me down’s to sleep
So ask no quest to somewhere
(You'll find my plot too deep)