Ashes of a Fractured Land
The earth beneath us shifts and groans,
split by voices turned to stone.
Once we stood with hands entwined,
now silence grows where roots unwind.
They call for justice, yet twist the scales,
pardoning hands that strike and wail.
Symbols fall to reckless hate,
while truth is bent to suit their state.
The weary plead for space to breathe,
for hope, for work, for love reprieved.
But walls rise high, the doors stay closed,
their names reduced to whispered ghosts.
They cast the blame with poisoned ease,
painting others as disease.
As if the world were theirs alone,
as if their gold could build a throne.
And those who struggle, those who kneel,
are branded weak, taught not to feel.
Labeled takers, parasites,Â
as if their hunger stole their rights.
Once-friends turn with narrowed eyes,
shuttered hearts, swallowed lies.
No room for doubt, no space for me,
adrift in their cold certainty.
So here I stand, where crossroads meet,
the wind a whisper at my feet.
Will bridges rise, will kindness last,
or are we bound to suffer for sins aghast?
by
D I G
The Stone That Walks
Once, I was a stone -
silent, patient, a whisper in the deep.
The earth held me in her quiet hand,
pressed me close beneath her dreaming roots.
Then something called, a slow bright pull,
and I rose, grain by grain, breath by breath,
a miracle of motion, of sight, of sound.
I walked. I saw rivers unravel like silver threads,
felt the sky rest its weight upon my shoulders,
heard the laughter of leaves in the wind,
the hush of snowfall on quiet fields.
I loved. I was loved.
For a time, I burned with the light of knowing,
warmed by touch, by voice, by the rhythm of hearts.
A stone no more, but something vast,
something full of song.
And when my steps grow slow,
when my shape softens, wears thin,
I will return, not lost, not less, but whole.
The earth will take me back,
and I will listen again, as I always have.
For the stone that walks
has known heaven.
by
D I G
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