If I made a stone to skip and skated it real quick,
the aftersurge would ripple on and wavy froth would thick.
This would be my effort true, in loves demanding wake;
to make or break the heart in me, but alas I fear mistake...

She could not follow, fay or false- lest I spot the ruse,
that stone flies on but friction forced to become a hue of blues ...
Are hearts compared to stones or rocks? don't ask her how to break them;
she knows within without no doubt that truest answers shake him...

So come to the point,this flying stone, skimmed beyond the breakers,
make your case to justify, like the walk of desperate quakers,
She did me wrong, the song did say, I knew it all too well;
bitterness and years misspent dragged romance to it's death knell...

Oh come says she, don't paint it dark, the rainbow covers you,
and yet the sunlight in her eyes always bears a darker hue.
I feel a spike a point a prick, the tear is ever so near;
The stone has flown from my sight,my love,my loss, my fear...

So play the game of skipping stone, into the sea of love,
Make your stay a brief affair, lest change come from above.
above beyond around your heart the flowers festal wreath;
the stone to lodge within the wave - it's sinking watery sheath...

So I 'fess I said too much, and pay the price now due,
but two are tied in love untried and this is nothing new.
I make mistake and realize, that all I knew was not,
the product of a broken man,but waylaid young-the pot...

All this jabber of stone and rock and poem writ on the fly,
Ah yes I compose like as you read for me there is no try.
It was regret that made me vent and poem became my weapon;
the answer be, I chase a woman,'tween wave and cryptic Heaven.

written by Damian Dowd 1555.Dec 19,2007.