I saw this old man collecting

rocks by the sea,

like they were memories of dreams discarded –

Jet black with stepped grooves

and

silver with cream fungi

that looked like a million eyes.

Each with a story to tell,

a story so rich and full that

there isn’t enough of life to listen.

~

Except

perhaps for the man by the sea,

who is now gone with his rocks.

I think he is resting on his arm chair

listening to the whispers of his dreams.

~

I,

am left wondering

which of these rock’s

are mine ?

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