Glass Or Stone

In the dirt, a gleaming bead.
He picks it up — is it
glass or stone,
valuable or
trash?

He wonders if it matters —
if it’s survived 
underfoot
on this hard trodden path
for any length of time,

it has proven itself 
worthy of at least admiration
if not adoration. Lifts it
to his eye; looks through;
all he sees is sky.

He chooses 
not to choose a price tag
to hang upon
this uncommon fortune
found in a common place,

uses the small treasure to see
the farthest thing he can see,
the farthest anyone can see;
drops the bead for the next seeker
to find; moves on.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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