Nostalgia of Rocks ( revised) -------------------------------------------
We stones remember being lava.
Remember when we were liquid hot
and glowed orange. Other rocks
sat in rubbling heaps nearby
warming themselves on our molten grace
content to be consoled by ancient dreams
in which they too, flowed.
We stones recall the raptors
who prowled and scrapped and danced
between the branches of our viscous rivers
before leaving bones behind.
Mountains trembled at our passionate intensity,
who could hold such radiant streams?
Crusted now and cooled to gray,
pressed into flinty solidity,
we squat steadfast in the gritty pile,
we hold a fiery spark inside.
but seriously, to me, this rock metaphor can be read in several ways: the passage of time, jurassic/triassic/dinosaur age memories, almost zen in a way in that you focus on being that rock and how it must be to be in that state. on another level, it's a personal worry perhaps; age being experience and being a worldly creature who's seen and done many things, and is passing it on even now.
and third, this speaks of constant passion to me. something seemingly eternal yet fleeting, and vice-versa, as solid becomes liquid becomes solid again, a triangular cycle, much like water in its various stages.
my one and only nit would be that you seem to have a lot of end-line commas cluttering the last third of your poem here... i read your last two lines as a separate end statement, a closing volta if you will, not as you have it here, but hey, that's just my silly opinion.
It flowed a lot better this time, did you condense it a bit? I don't quite remember what you did to the original poem to make this one, but I have to say that this is an amazing improvement upon the last. The overall pace of the poem is more stable, and the message is clearer. Good job.
A very creative write, we all grow old and look back at the days of being young. You beautifully described this process. My grandfather passed away recently, we where very close and in his last month he told me how difficult it is to grow old. The last few months I could not help to see my father in the same light as I saw grandfather. But this is all part of life.
Thank you for reminding me of all the good I once had.