War

A dull, disfigured pebble lies on the ground,
Small, insignificant and trivial in the rubble.
She peeps out at
A boulder vaunting to its fawning acolytes,
Albeit to misdirect and conceal its rotten core.
Cowering in fear by herself,
The pebble watches as they play rocky games without her.
How could others in the gravel stay stone-still?
She doubts that her brethren’s flinty hearts beat at all
As they jeer and point at her.
They all forget that she is still a rock,
Crafted by aeons of hardship,
Full of persistence, character.
They are all rocks,
No matter their idiosyncrasies,
And all should be treated like one.

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