At a certain point
You put your head down.
Not in defeat,
But to work.
You put your shoulders into it.
You make your calves ache.
When you were little,
Your face was a full moon
Receptacle: a plate to catch rain.
Now your face catches sweat
Streaming in dirt
Down from your hat band.
You are building something
You will never complete,
And that is the way it should be.
originally appeared @ Litsnack
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I love it, I knew you would have some good poems. Very moving. Poems can even make something like success seem tragic. Very deep.
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