Journal April 3


The Hammer Holds – Bebo Norman

A shapeless piece of steel, that’s all I claim to be. This hammer pounds to give me form, this flame, it melts my dreams. I glow with fire and furry, as I’m twisted like a vine. My final shape, my final form, I’m sure I’m bound to find.

So dream a little dream for me in hope that I’ll remain. And cry a little cry for me so I can bear the flames. And hurt a little hurt for me, my future is untold. But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds.

The water, it cools me gray, and the hurt subdued somehow. I have my shape this sharpened point, what is my purpose now? And the question, it still remains what am I to be? Perhaps some perfect piece of art displayed for all to see.

A hanner pounds again, but flames I do not feel. This force that dribes me helplessly through flesh and wood reveals. A burn that burns much deeper, it’s more than I can stand. The reason for my life was to take the life of a guiltless man.

This task before me may seem unclear, but it my maker holds.


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