Standing, edge of cliff so sheer

Peering toward the vast

Churning blue, and foam recede

Lessons, of the past.

Project my soul, this vertical wall

That shields the tender land

From erosion of the Tempest Wind

Yet carves the granite man. 

Beneath, as passions tremble

And curl about the form

Slowly abrade patina-soft

In forecast of the storm.

Adjacent to these weathered friends

Lie memories of the gale,

When weakness overcame me—

Another love, I failed.

Resting bitter, jagged, waiting

To rest my skin upon—

Accepting vengeance’ laceration,

Exposed--within each dawn.

I, spun in ego—unyielding—

Deny the right to view,

The fissures gape internally

Kept away from you.

Igneous veneered viscera—

With pulse upon command—

And words that know such timelessness

As footprints in the sand.

Yet vertical and tall I’ll reach

Defy natural decay—

Deeming that my wit prevails

With death I may persuade.

In Time, such shroud consumes me

I will have died before—

Legacies of ignorance—

I’ve offered nothing more.

Granite man is born of fire;

And this, his only sin:

Striking flint and flesh as one,

Igniting from within.