Fighting For It

This is just gonna be where I post all of the poems that I write on here. I also put them on my dA (Cenitopius.Deviantart.Com) and my Facebook for those of you who already have it.
This series would probably have been called 'A Little Bit of Poetry' if it weren't for the fat that Fighting For It (101) was so descriptive of the whole series in it's name that I had to use it here as well.


21. The Stoning

A friend of mine once asked me in a religious debate if I truly believed that everything in this world beautiful could of came to be due to a coincidence. I gave a half-minded answer at the time, but now that I think about it I feel this might take more than that.
Aside from the fact that we could have grown to enjoy what we now perceive as beauty because it is good to have an easy source of serotonin (happy brain juice) in our body, I think there's a certain beauty to the world that appears far away from aesthetics.
Allow me to take, for irony's sake, the scene in which a man is being stoned to death under accusations of witchcraft. Let's focus on the weapon; a stone.
Many of you will think of stones and see in your mind's eye that a stone is a dirty piece of the earth and in this case it's used to brutally beat a man into submission for something that doesn't exist. If I may, that scene is ugly and gruesome, but imagine for a second, this; the rock's history. A small slab of slate curving through the air should positively glow with it's hundreds, if not thousands, of years of existence, starting off as a cluster of sand before being forced down into the earth under the sea, the pressure so unbearable that it forced the clusters together. The atoms combine and become stone, but this is not the end of the journey, yet simply the beginning.
Thousands of years of extra pressure forms more and more layers of sedimentary rock on top of it in such a way that every point or spike across it's entirety is built around by another stone, the slabs don't move in their place as they're pushed because they're so tightly packed together that now even the human mind perceives it as one object - not two or more pushed together or attached with this 'key and lock' formation, nor thousands of tiny grains of sand or dirt pressured together until they simply won't come apart again, but one, consistent item to the human mind.
The stone is pushed to land by whatever forces you might come to think of as almost all at some point will of come into play, and it is left there for plants and wildlife and nature it's self to embrace with it's roots before trees fall and rock rises and it appears at just the right time frame for perhaps a man to pick it up and skip it across a lake perhaps, leaving so much in vain. in it's millions of years of age it finally reaches the place in time where it stands as the one thing it doesn't need to be, and it stands to reason that this act is unreasonable but the stone is thrown and it crashes against a dying, suffering, tortured man's face. Perhaps it breaks, and all that's ever been doe to make it is split down the middle, broken beyond repair. perhaps it simply lands discarded against the ground waiting for the next chapter in it's life.
Whatever happens next to it, there's something more beautiful than the sky or the sea, the trees or the wind or the ocean. And what is it? It's a rock.

A Dumb rock.

So next time you hold a stone in your hand consider the beauty you can taint by throwing it. Weather you took this story as literally as possible or as majestically metaphorical as man can, take something from it. Understand the beauty of the rocks we stand on, the words we've crafted or the friendships we stand to lose.

Don't throw the rock. Put it down.

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