In the Trail of the Wind
Petals In The Wind
This is a poem I wrote a few years back while still living
with my father... I used to say it to myself when I got
depressed or lost hope. I hope others might like it too..
As a child, I did not wish upon a star.
I did not wish upon jewels or fairies or angels.
There were no saints in my small world,
and I knew I was on my own.
But even as a child, the one thing that always claimed my
was the hardest and smallest of stones.
It wasn't a great mountain,
or a valuable gem,
nor did it have priceless runes of time enscribed upon it.
It was a stone, small, flat, and smooth,
the rough edges worn off by the flowing waters of the river.
It had been broken up, had pieces of it stolen away,
left to dissolve back into dirt someday.
It was unwanted, a plain, dull gray.
But it was with this stone, that I learned to pray.
It did not wither or cry or bleed,
it was stone, it took all and did not speak.
It was impervious to the tears that would flow off my
landing upon its smooth surface,
and rolling off without leaving a mark.
And on that stone, with a sharp blade,
I wrote a simple plea.
"I wish someone would love me."
With one last grasp in the palm of my hand,
I dropped my stone in the river.
I set it free.
It flowed away, taking with it a part of me.
But my wish was leaving, and I knew where it would be.
Someday that stone would get left upon some rocky bank,
where it would eventually be ground done into a fine sand.
And one day, from that patch of sand,
flowers would bloom from the land.
And a small white flower,
so simple and unique,
would raise its head,
my wish written upon its cheek.
And when the wind blew hard,
and tore the petals away,
they drifted for days,
a small, unseen parade.
Those petals will find me someday,
when I am strong and smooth.
When I am a stone,
those petals will come back,
gently calling me home.
I am not an angel singing in the trees.
I am not a rock with no hand to lend.
I am nothing but white petals in the wind.