If I were to write 10,000 words

How much more would I be heard?

How could even all express,

Depths of joy mirrored by distress.

Though words paint well a canvas bare,

I fear even these won't take me there. 

For what picture do I wish to find,

To paint the feelings in my mind?

An ocean, sitting, to and fro,

On pebbled beach soft waves do flow.

A silent, never-ending tide,

Herald change, reveal and hide.

And yet, until it's gone once more,

Do I dare walk this salted shore.

I look intent for nothing known,

I find only one acceptable stone. 

But as I reach the waves appear,

Crashing, rushing, crawling near.

I've yet to know the stone's purpose before,

Fingered waves cover pebbled floor. 

The stone, my precious treasure touched,

By crawling, roaring waters brushed. 

Intake of breath, a sigh of waves, 

Receding now as sunlight bathes

Myriads of stones, all alive but one;

For my precious little stone,

was gone.