(Note to readers: I am sharing a poem I wrote several years ago. If you've already read it, I apologize!)
The Song of the Stone
I looked at the stone,
kicked loose in my walking.
I watched it roll a short distance, then stop.
It catches my eye,
lying so innocuous,
silent to all that it has seen
in the course of the years and years.
I stoop down and pick it up.
small, rough, mottled gray,
resting cool and still in my hand,
the dust of its journey still clinging to its surface.
I gaze at it, wondering,
where has it been?
what has it seen?
what songs has it heard?
There was another stone,
pushed aside, no longer important,
no longer needed to seal off the dead.
It sat there, still and silent,
forgotten in the rush,
its very position witness to the miracle of life
The women have left long ago,
the disciples have gone,
the stone has since been moved,
broken up or worn down,
but the echoes of those alleluias
still lie within,
reminding us of another time
when a stone was the only witness.
Listen carefully to the song of the stone:
“Christ is Risen! Alleluia!”
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