Like a stone in the river
I hold my shape,
smooth and unmoved,
no edges for your fury
to grip,
no crevice for your chaos
to enter.
You surge around me,
wild water
roaring with demands,
searching for weakness,
for reaction,
for the cracks
that might break me
open again.
But I am quiet now,
solid, breathing
beneath your noise—
you who feed on storms
cannot swallow silence.
I have learned stillness
from mountains, patience
from pebbles worn
gently by time.
My power is no longer in motion,
but in steadiness,
a patience deep as bedrock.
Watch closely,
as your currents tire,
as your anger slips past
without catching.
I remain,
grounded in the simple dignity
of stone,
no longer moved
by the floods you bring.
I am here—
gray and calm,
a rock shaped
by survival,
quietly stronger
than your loudest storm.
The Whispered Verse 