A Simple Game Of Creation

Craft me please,

As the ocean does the soft breeze,

Against the rigid earth,

Please stand still, find the worth—

In the chilling cold,

Choose to be created from no mold,

But boon,

The boon that burst from his mother’s womb.


With the tips of your fingers and my guidance…build,

I’ll speak explicit of the pressure your fingers wield,

You fingers will,

Be my beginning,

You fingers will,

Do my trimming, skimming, bending, thinning –

Of the last, brass, crassly brash past…

That holds in my memory,

The enemy…the enemy to my future and creator of my present,

A simple game of creation, you must be eternal, you must be incessant,

For my past…is good at what it does; create.


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