small stones

when my spirit flags
and hope has fled
in the face of
malice gone wild
I’m reminded—
the smallest pebble
can start a landslide
they roll and gather
until, with a whoosh!
and roar, that land
is changed forever

allow me to kindle a
sweep of good will
I ask to be that stone

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.