BB Grey–musings

“he burned with a fire that knew no end.

His hands, broad and calloused,
his heart, even more-so.

He could twist and turn,
push and pull,
pound and punch,
maul and mallet—
his hands,
instruments of labor,
implements of intent.

He could love, then lose,
wish, then want,
withstand, yet waver,
give, yet get—
his heart,
a blazing furnace,
yet a flickering flame.

Celebrated for his hands’ craft,
despised for his heart’s longing,
branded a deceiver,
he burned with a fire that knew no end.

From hand to heart,
he swore allegiance—
to a single cause,
a singular desire,
a solitary inspiration.

And he fell
on that forsaken hill,
clutching a banner,
its cloth tattered,
its hues dimming,
yet its significance
carved into the soil
beneath his corpse.