My Rock

The Rock
I once had a rock.
I washed away its dirt.
I polished it.
I put time, energy, and love into this rock.

This rock was my strength
and I built my house on it.

Someone came and stole my rock.

And my house fell apart.

I tried to fix my house,
and though I could live in it,
it was not the same.

I was told I was getting my rock back.
I ripped down some of my walls
to prepare to put the rock back
where I thought it belonged.

But then the plan was changed.

The thieves have started building their house on my rock.
And since my house is kind-of rebuilt,
there is no sense in giving me my rock back,
and wrecking their house,
even if it isn't finished,
and it was my rock first.

I do not understand
why thieves get the rock that I shaped and loved.

I do not understand
how I deserve to live with a shambled house.

I do not understand
how to rebuild, again, the walls I took down.

Mostly, I do not understand
how to live with the empty hole
where my rock used to be.