His knuckles were knots.
Round, tight bunches,
Tied roughly, taught
By the lessons of men;
Who seem only to brutalize
The beauty of the body.
His heart was chiseled.
Stone in the stead of flesh,
Fixed to a function. Grounded,
Not in hope, but the kiln’s capture.
Heat, the blistering rage, resolved
In all the hand’s heartless work.
His mind was not his. Home;
A house of helplessness. Now,
The mental mutiny made know.
Year's of yearning for youth, only
To forfeit all faith of the future,
In exchange for hard truth.
Oct 13, 2020
Oct 13, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
His knuckles were knots.
Round, tight bunches,
Tied roughly, taught
By the lessons of men;
Who seem only to brutalize
The beauty of the body.
His heart was chiseled.
Stone in the stead of flesh,
Fixed to a function. Grounded,
Not in hope, but the kiln’s capture.
Heat, the blistering rage, resolved
In all the hand’s heartless work.
His mind was not his. Home;
A house of helplessness. Now,
The mental mutiny made know.
Year's of yearning for youth, only
To forfeit all faith of the future,
In exchange for hard truth.
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