I wandered away from the path.
Said goodbye to gravel colored gems
Under my stained converses.
It was down by the stream, where I found him.
A small boy with a pocket full of rocks,
And a streak down his face, where a tear ran not too long ago.
You can probably catch it at the end of the stream if you’re quick.
I asked him why his face mimics the river’s current.
He said he had no place to put the rest of his rocks,
Rocks he cupped in red split palms.
I asked him about his empty pocket, who looked
Lonely compared to his brimful brother.
A fierce headshake followed with savant eyes,
He relayed, “That pocket is reserved for someone.”
“Reserved for who?” asked my eagerness.
“Hope.” He whispered.