The working man

I wanted to see the world

Drift on its adventurous waves

Follow careless whispers

Love high placed women

Have my heart cracked beyond mending

Sing my poems in a thousand tongues

Enlist for a dying course

And get consumed a young man

By the flames of mine own passion

But I buried that selfish self

When I held the fruit of my loins

And now not only my mouth to feed

So I work wood

Break rocks

Clear fields

Lay bricks

Sweat every inch of my veins

To return home a working man

To paint her cradle

With the blood of my nailed palms

To moisture her clay dolls

With my sacred tears

See her tiny feet dance

To the tunes of my flute

Alas! The whole world is in her eyes

I need not traverse the globe

Any past illusions of beauty is naught

For me a fairy is begot

A violet by thorny ground

And oh the difference to me.


3 thoughts on “The working man

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