Daniel Freer, Fall 2015
if living is just a series of digging holes
and filling them in
then I am satisfied with simply life
but the dirt in the packed hole is still loose
and its diameter can be seen
if you look
closely
if you peer into the soul of the earth
you will find that its composition
has changed
and the soil, the clay, the stones,
have all been mixed and intertwined
never to return to their initial resting place.
I found the sword
Now I need a stitch
I bled out
Now I need to be filled
What mixture shall fill me now the blood is away?
What stones will harden my heart day to day?
for tough and broken skin
is still broken.
for to still seem hardened
when viewed from the outside
to maintain the image my heart created for itself
to maintain the strength that was innately present
a rigid foundation must now be clandestine inside
And what portion, I say
will be made full of clay?
How much will be mutable when pressed,
but will harden when put under heat?
How much of my heart
can be built brick by brick
can be molded
to form not only structure
but beautiful arrays of color
glorious and unique
And the soil.
The soil will fill
Any remaining space
For emptiness
Leads to loneliness
And what sentient being wishes loneliness upon himself?
And yet I must be prudent
Each must be examined
No stone unturned
For again I am in control
of the shape of my heart
and I don’t intend to fuck it up