My Pocket's Stone

In my pocket, a stone, worn smooth from the touch,

a weight like a promise, it carried so much.

Cool in my palm, through the struggles it rolled,

companion in silence, a secret retold.

Rough days would come, but I’d squeeze it tight,

as if it could whisper the courage to fight.

I’d pull it out often, in moments of doubt,

a talisman of strength, in a world filled with rout.

Every curve like a memory, carved by my need,

a reminder of patience, of planting a seed.

In the pocket of my jeans, it learned how to stay,

through sun and through shadows, through night and through day.

So here in this moment, with stone in my hand,

I reflect on the journey, the paths I had planned.