Stones

When Harry said words were stones
I thought the idea plausible,
didn't understand
till I went to write

nothing
sprang fourth,
scrabbling, mining for words,
casting aside anything not precious
gems, seeking gold,
back aching labour
pick axe rise
pick axe fall
I find nothing, I stall,
fall short on desire,
mired in muck,
just sat here stuck,
a pile of gravel,
staring at a mountain that will
only mine
nothing

take up carving
in stone
instead,
a hammer
a chisel to
chip the chaff
away from the
core of polished marble
to reveal the beauty
within the stone.
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