Stone Man

That onetime heart of clay
Molded to everyman’s whim,
Brought sunshine forth as day
Contoured by reverent verses of their hymn
Reaching deep to other’s inner selves…
The smiles that leapt forth
When he spoke and queried
Just how are you—really?
Is your sorrow truly buried?
The Empathetic Soul
Stretched out like centipede runners
Searching, always searching
The life-giving water of another’s hurts.
Meeting the red of anger
And the blue of tears
With painted desert colors of sensitivity.
Years have worn him down.
Desiccated souls insidiously sipping
Until the clay heart began to dry and dry.
First it was the humor that left.
Then the happy lines about the eyes.
Tired – oh, how tired – or was it ennui?
Finally someone stopped long enough
To knock on his heart…
It knocked back – the deadened sound,
Soft, yet deafening – of stone.
That passerby jettisoned the stony heart
Like a shot-put.
It rolled and came to rest
In a shallow wet puddle of someone’s tears.
It sponged the wetness dry—
So thirsty for all we thirst for—
Then softened – just a bit – enough to notice.
To notice itself
To notice those tears disappeared.
A smile crept on like dawn
Pushing shadows away in the early morn.
Time again, and another time.

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