Touch These Stones

photo of stacked stones in front of a sun rise

by Alex Barlow
I, broken, without worth
Do lie on tattered ground
I only feel cold darkness,
Hear only hollow sound

For years, I laid alone
Just passing all the hours
Slaving to this world
Weathered by its showers

But then a gentle step
Comes forth towards me at last
And moltens from my side
Sixteen Stones as clear as glass

I see his brow, filled with sweat
And his tired hopeful eyes,
Inquisitive he looks on
And breathes a heavy sigh

He has a goal though I’m not sure
What he hopes or why he’s here
But something in the way he breathes
Shows faith instead of fear

The ground crunches, pieces of me
Are headed to a place
Determination, love and hope
Are written on his face.

We stop and down he kneels
And lays me to the ground
And speaks out loud so humble
Though a soul is not around

He cries about his weakness,
His unworthiness, he drones
But he catches my attention,
“Lord, Touch These Stones!”

Then a light so marvelous!
Beyond the stretch of any sea
Engulfs, warms, and catches
Every single piece of me

Darkness is gone! Away it went!
No more feeling parched and worthless
By a perfect finger, I was lit
Now I have a purpose

Christopher D. Cunningham is the managing editor for Public Square Magazine and contributor to Third Hour. He loves emphatically celebrating the normal healthy development of his sons Albus and Whitman, writing about the Church of Jesus Christ, finding the middle ground on most controversies, and using Western Family generic brand lip balm. Christopher is a proud graduate of Brigham Young University-Idaho, and a resident of San Antonio, Texas.