If The Stones Were to Cry - A Poem

A forest of stone,

Alone, still, and silent. 

Compliant to whispers,

And grifters despised. 

Stones stand still soundless,

Anxious and yearning,

Awaiting that whisper,

To glister in glory. 

Two words demand action:

An exaction of love. 

It behoves the creator,

Master over the stones. 

A still voice breathes “cry out,”

They shout, moreso they sing.

“The King does rule and reign,

Abstain deceit, praise His name!”

The stones, they sing Ringing melodies. 

The rocks, they praise With a blaze of revelries. 

The boulders, they bellow With fellow lovely parodies. 

The mountains, they hum And succumb to their authority.

Imagine the Half-Dome At home atop Yosemite. 

Imagine the beaches: Screeches of sand, in beat with the pounding sea.

Imagine the Tetons, Unbeaten in musical mastery. 

Imagine the whole earth Giving birth to one great symphony. 

Imagine the moon,

In tune and in harmony. 

Imagine all things singing wordlessly, universally,

Without any uncertainty, 

That Jesus is Lord of All