Weathered Stone

Weathered Stone

Smooth sides, weathered
By the sands
And the winds
And the sun of crimson heat
That darkens the grainy skin
Of the stone
That humbly watches,
More wise than the trees and streams
That grow and wither,
Rise and fall,
The ebb and flow of harsh existence
That can only shape
But never eradicate the presence
Of the stone.

The stone shelters one of her many faces.
Rough and secret, the wind, sand and sun
Never polished this mask—bare, faced
Away from the world, protected
From passerby eyes like a sinister child
Shamefully drawn to the shadows.

Cracks skitter their way across her freckled skin,
Scars on an already brittle body.
Her flecked, brown skin is
Stark next to its crystalline neighbors.

Her fractures are tattooed imperfections.
She is aged, and she is weathered.
She is beautiful.