Two stones, struck accidentally.
Sparks stirred. So did a thought.
And the fire was idolized forever.
Years later, someone brought it to our
Hearths and kitchens.
Somewhere out there,
A stone cut into the flesh.
Blood flowed, and thoughts raced.
And knives were born.
Someone dared to taste the apple,
The bread and the cinnamon;
To live in caves, the huts and homes;
To carve out the wheel.
It is to such pregnant minds that we owe our living.
Then be they the stroke of genius,
Or an errant radical thought.
It is what justifies life,
And the joy therein.
Linking with Trifecta : Week Forty-Two
Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words - Cinnamon