Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Stone, a poem


Unlike Sisyphus,
I, someday, shall sleep
in the shadow of my hill.

Let this stone then stand,
speechless sentinel,
at my head, companion still,

marker of the grave
where I, weary grown,
lie forgetting want or will.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

I suppose this could have been a longer, more ambitious piece, had I chosen to go that way. But I didn't---just the basic metaphor is sufficient, I think, and any more would be nothing but embellishment.

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