Rolling stone (Photo credit: Paulo Etxeberria)
Is a force that keeps going.
It perpetuates itself, growing,
And never slowing.
Once it does,
Time stands still,
Like a stone rolled atop a hill.
It’s a strange feeling
That’ll have you reeling.
Once the momentum stops
The abstractions are tossed
And the words are lost.
How can lost inertia be gained
Amidst all the silence, plain?
All it takes is a push,
A gentle breeze whistling, “whoosh”,
To push the boulder off the ledge
And break the glass ceiling with a sledge…
So the momentum will return
The creative force for which I yearn.
