Why should I entomb my hatchet
after so much toil in the honing?
After all its blade excels alls measures
for heft and keenness
and no finer tool can be had
to strike the ultimate blow -
except perhaps the one you're holding.
So here we stand my friend
ensnared by pride's inertia
with everything to lose
but one or another's demise
within our imminent grasp.
Then without a sign or preamble,
our eyes meet as if by chance
and in that unsought instant,
the shame of forgiveness
saps our strength and sinew.
Our weapons clang to the pavement.
Unless we're history's fools
we know it seldom ends this way.
How much must we sacrifice
before the worst we have been
can give up its sorry shade
to the best our souls demand?
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
Why should I entomb my hatchet
after so much toil in the honing?
After all its blade excels alls measures
for heft and keenness
and no finer tool can be had
to strike the ultimate blow -
except perhaps the one you're holding.
So here we stand my friend
ensnared by pride's inertia
with everything to lose
but one or another's demise
within our imminent grasp.
Then without a sign or preamble,
our eyes meet as if by chance
and in that unsought instant,
the shame of forgiveness
saps our strength and sinew.
Our weapons clang to the pavement.
Unless we're history's fools
we know it seldom ends this way.
How much must we sacrifice
before the worst we have been
can give up its sorry shade
to the best our souls demand?
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