Heat

~ Heat ~

 

 

However long I am forced,

However long I despised, deigned- to not-

Care,

moving the grindstones,

In the heat,

I pined not,

I cried not,

For laborious my hands,

Toiled, sweat-soaked,

Were they, all traits,

That tell of hardship,

Belonged to them-

Depressing the weight,

Creating sleek grooves,

Like water ripples,

Through my palms,

But I continued on,

Depressed and low,

As the slight depression,

That cut my skin,

Made my body-

Cry-

Beneath the heat,

As though I were-

A blistering tuna melt . . .

Dying, yet growing strong,

Becoming imbued-

With a tactile layer,

Of muscle in rippling,

Waves . . .

 

So my design,

Is of a water stream,

As I ripple, and glow-

In my heated labor,

With a pure, unadulterated,

Constant,

Wave,

Of inner strength . . .

As I stare at the waterfall,

Indenture from the rock,

 

I am made from-

A pillar of sheer granite.