Posted in Poetry

Coal

Black hard rock,

Ugly, yet symbolic.

 

Born out of the pressure,

Constantly pushed down.

 

Why, when it may as well have glittered,

When it could just be precious,

When it could have been desired by all,

Did it turn to black rock?

 

Akin to impressionable minds,

That can be carved into differing personalities.

A push in the right direction,

And behold, a diamond.

 

And yet, a whisper here,

A dark thought there,

A glimpse of a vice,

And what are you left with?

 

Charred coal.

A shadow of the person that one could have been.

A disappointment,

A failure perhaps?

 

Why, you say,

Does it even matter?

Must we not all end up as ashes?

Thrown into sacred waters,

Or saved in a precious urn.

 

But oh, how it does,

For the ashes of a diamond

Are revered and remembered.

While those of coal,

Lie forgotten or despised,

Till the end of time.

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