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Stone Angels

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Regarding "Stone Angels"

Recently, I was asked
To write a poem which had to
Include ten random words
Given to me. I normally would
Never have considered
Anything like that, but this
Request was part of an exercise in
A training session I was
Taking. And so I consented!
The words given me were,
“Trickle,” “alone,” “gently,”
“Mirrored,” “playfully,”
“Sleeping,” “dignified,” “healing,”
“Sacredness,” and “doors.”

As I was reflecting on
These ten words, I penned
Almost absentmindedly
What would turn out to be
The opening verse of the poem,
Stone Angels.” With that
One verse, I knew instinctively I
Could complete the poem!
And so thus it unfolded
As naturally as stream
Waters polishing stones!
Each word, in fact, a stone!
Looking back at the
Genesis of this writing
Project and the resulting
Poem, I have no doubt
The muse or, better said, the
Holy Spirit as the muse,
Was the initiator. Because
When I first saw the poem on
My computer screen, I
Sensed it felt like the work of
A Higher Power. Not only
Did the ten words flow easily and
Unimpeded, but all the
Other words in the poem
Did as well, all fitting
Comfortably together
Like stones in a stream bed,
And touching something
Deep and very dear inside me…
Something looking for an
Outlet, an expression, an
Explanation, an understanding of
The confluence of my life –
Its purpose, its finish,
Something which spoke of
Hope and eternal rest
At the end of my path.
The ten words given to me
Are as if tumbled or
Smoothed by the running
Waters of the accompanying
Photograph, and the
Entire visual layout of the
Poem reflects their encoded
Place in Creation’s eternal
Stream bed, and is a
Metaphor for God’s mercy,
Even when the siren
Call of duty seemed to have
Randomly cast its net
And ensnared me all alone.

Leo Carroll
May 8, 2022

I first hear the trickle of
The brook long before I am able
To see it, swaddled as I
Am in this womb of beautiful
Autumn aspens, dreamily
Hiking towards a vale
I have never visited before,
But now from the murmur of the
Brook knowing my arrival
Is at hand. I listen to the
Brook running over stones,
Gently, almost playfully, but in a
Manner respecting their
Dignified demeanor and
Sacredness, because these
Stones once hung dutifully as
Guardian angels over the
Doors to the hearts of humans,
And are now themselves
Laid at rest in these loving
Waters – waters where they, too,
Can recline and experience
Healing and protection,
Comforted by the harmony of
Being with other similar
Stones, all of whom now
Gazing blissfully into each
Other’s faces as if cuddling or
Sleeping, and realizing in
This cemetery of mirrored
Reflections that they did not live
All these eons alone

Leo Carroll
April 27, 2022
Westford, Massachusetts

Photo by Ales Krivec (via Unsplash.com)
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