The Stone Mason

My monsters are bigger than me.  And I,  am I’ David with a sling?  With nothing but a strip of cloth swinging in the wind.  Be it bandage, be it blindfold, but a weapon– it is not.  Because it’s not the one stone, not one definitive blow, not one shot– that slays the beast.  It’s a wall, of a thousand tiny rocks held instead of hurled, lain instead of launched… embraced instead of cast into the chasm of breaking silence.  And it is these moments of stillness in agony though the rage quivers inside of me, placed side by side in my endeavors that will build my wall.  So I tie that strip over my eyes, and I trust not in my sight but my hands, and my best laid plans for a better me.   My sweat and my regret are the mortar.   The strain in my back and shoulders will move boulders.  My monsters are bigger than me.   But I am not their puppet, standing on the parapets that I have built.  No, I am my own man.  And I am, free.  

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