Stones of Conviction
James H. Miller

The stones of my conviction I carry home from the beach,
where I had gone to ask the water what to do
Smooth white stones, some quite murky while others nearly transparent,
like the shades of clarity in my decision.
Along the way I passed a fountain,
speaking in trickles, reminding me,
silly: the best choice is the one bringing the most peace,
as that is what a decision does best.
When I asked the waves the same question,
they said the fountain already told me.
Then the receding tide drew thousands of smooth white stones toward the sea,
knocking into each other, laughing the laugh of thousands at my petty dilema.
So I carry some stones with me home from the beach,
letting their smooth white voices reminds me of all the water had said,
and the right thing to do.