Beneath a surface smooth as polished marble
lies a crack upon a smooth, sun-warmed stone.
An imprint that mars the interior
of a stone that's been weathered,
tossed aside by careless hands,
A stone that bares the mark of a life long lived,
A stone that bears a reminder beneath its exposed surface.
In days to come this stone will be discovered,
succeeding like many others before it.
Its memory will be polished, and shined.
Kept safe in a locked box,
or cut down and set upon a ring of gold.
Placed on a sunny window sill,
or perhaps appointed to lie upon a mantle.
Protecting the wonders of their children,
where it will stay to watch idly as generations pass it by.
Gathering the memories of many lives,
listening to the softest secrets unspoken
blemished by a small reminder of where it came,
and where it will never return.
It is a wound that defies the lonely passing of time.
In days to come it will turn to dust,
Its name, memories, and history wiped clean.
Thus the cycle begins anew.

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