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Might
July 1, 2015
What doom may consume the one whom does not know what to do with their tools.
Their toils are foiled by the forage in which it was adored.
Adored the sword so tenderly sowed in its owners longing woes.
But behold the sword that does not grow from the harmer’s blows, but is laid low by its mighty blows, whether the hand that holds wished for the sword to grow or no.
No might can guide to the mind’s eye.
Might must find the line to subside if light is to abide in its masters eye.
© Chyla P., El Dorado, KS
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this piece was inspired when I acudently playful hit my sister to hard with a pillow. I hurt her. I never have kown my own strength and this is just a reflextion on that.