i keep the pebble in the hand
as a testament
to the revolt of feelings.
mere electrical currents
in the brain.

sometimes the pebble is placed down.
its weight can crush if the
heart is flighty with thoughts
and fancies void of substance.

as the pebble is looked at, it stares
back. forever with no smile
or frown or indication
other than it is a creation
of God.

borrowed from the universe
the pebble does not need me
as much as i need it.