By virtue of birth and circumstanceI became an untall, unhandsomeunfair-skinned, shy immigrant boyand given a chiselwith which I can eitherwhile away the rest of my yearsscratching my predetermined epitaph of quiet reservationor take that chiseland put its sharpest edge to my wit,hone my physical form with strength and sculptingand spit at heredity's woe,unrelenting, until I have carved away theweakest parts of me and cast them asidewithout blame, without doubt, without hesitanceto emerge defiant, breathing ravenouslypiercing with new truths that obliterate the once fragile heartto make it invincible with a new forging.I am the tower of my own might.I am the forgiver of my own sins.I am the pawn that has been cast on this board of kings,And I will be victorious.
About Chisel:
Written 9/21/02, 1:57am. My new mantra. It probably applies to a lot of people in this world, they just need to replace some of the adjectives. If you read it while listening to Coltrane's "A Love Supreme", it makes more sense.
We don' need no stinkin' Dr. Phil.
Thanks to Little Fawn for giving me the line, "I am the forgiver of my own sins." I owe you lunch, darlin'.
