Stones

Here's a poem from 'Other' by Kester Brewin:

Stones

If we could all

just stop throwing stones,

and stoop, knees bent

and write in the dust,

we'd see the dust

was once a stone -

grand, and hard, and proud, and tough -

now ground and dissolved

in grace and tears.

So...how much better

to be a grain of dirt

on that kind of prophet's hand

than a stone

in the cold, accusing Temple

of the pure.