life has become cumbersome
standing at the edge
water motionless like ice
casting reflections in my eye
smooth stone within grasp
half the size of a hand
I press and release
press and release
unable to change its shape
past years once a blur
slowly come back into focus
realization setting in
that despite my true intentions
I could neither mold
nor influence nor protect you
some flowers bloom once
and some bloom dead
yet stones accumulate
constantly recirculating
some skipping across water
others creating makeshift walls
temporarily shielding me
from a world I once knew
august two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
sad poetry of loss…
Thank you, Padmini.
Beautifully evocative of nostalgia.
thank you so much, Carol