The Black Stones of Maine

Dark waves.
Dark stones.
A smattering of spray.
an Atlantic wind.
Eternity in a moment.

A quiet mind
in the midst of the storm,
an unnatural thing
cultivated
by your unexpected survival.

For the storms do not destroy.
Not even the ones determined to.
Something survives.
The stone beneath the sand.
You.

About this poem

The picture is of stones in Maine. The poem is not.

We are stronger that they think.

Tom