Pebbles Upon a Pond

Something there is in the tinkling
Of jewels that fall to a marble floor,
Like the rippling of pebbles upon a pond
That is frozen and turned to ice.

They inspire reflection, just like the
Water before and even after it’s frozen;
Like so many thoughts scattering and
Then bouncing back at he or she who threw.

I would like to catch and gather them all,
But they have the most annoying tendency
To bounce and skitter away from me,
Scattering across the hoary rime of my mind.

And if I turn away, then everything becomes
Meaningless; for they only burn their way through
And sink, and lodge themselves in some
Forgotten abyss, where then they crave release.

There they fester, until I am driven mad;
Forced to carve my way in a frenzy through the
Ice, to dive into my own recesses and dredge
Them up from forgotten crevices in the mud.

Somewhere, half-acknowledged, there is a fear
That I will not be able to re-find the hole which
I have carved upon the surface of my mind;
And that I will be trapped down here forever.

But then, submerged within myself - cold
And struggling for breath, I claw my way to
The surface, and scatter my thoughts upon
The ice again, through sheer exhaustion.

But some I keep in sturdy pockets, well-
Stitched and used to honest work; they do
Not split, but keep my faith and hold the
Pebbles, which are the labours of my mind.

And I reach the grass, shivering but relieved,
And dig my blue-tinted hands into their depths,
Clutching many smooth and creamy white-
Coloured pearls which glisten in the moonlight.

And as my eyes begin to bore into them, already,
They begin to dissolve into a silver dust and
To adopt the likeness of words, like I knew they
Always would; just waiting for this release.

And the midnight breeze whisks them away and
Swirls them into the air to play amongst the
Stars, and to paint the sky of Me with My essence;
For god knows there is no one else who can.

Tears trickle, white in the light and then drip one
By one from my jaw-line – seemingly so strong –
A bitter-sweet release. There is sadness mixed
With joy, as I read the painted script upon the sky.

Catharsis! Perhaps I am free for a little while,
But alas! There are more awaiting my attention,
And I know I must soon submerge myself again
And begin the process anew.