What is a man but
Flesh and bone gave breath;
Such mortal beast
To buck beneath
The reins of my imagination.
Cry out for me, ye bloodied hands
I am the stones arise on emerald hills
My flesh the graven gold
Of toiling back and grinding axe.
My blood be thee and thine
All rivers flow to mine
Call me God, for all I see is all I am
A fire in the earth
Tempered in the sea of sable madness
Yet to swim, yet to circumnavigate
My ambition, this thing of steel
No land might ever satisfy
The hunger of my soul.
All songs, they sing for me
Each note a dirge unto my memory.
Each breath, praise, for it is mine divine
Providence, they say, a god-in-man
Whoso could ever hope to say
I could not turn the tides.
I am the horse that rides,
I am the bolt that flies,
I am the child that cries,
He whom only fate defies.
Behold my majesty and yet despair
Of he who masters everyone
And nothing, and no one, still.
For the latest Monday Poetry Potluck!