Heart of Man

Precious little,

Can you etch upon the heart of man.

Polish him with grains of sand.

He is made of iron wood,

Vulnerable as the sun.

He is soul

Bitten with winter winds

Melted and remoulded

Cast, fitted, and scolded

Lined to his bones with grit against the world.

Yet he falters,

Sputters and alters his course,

Fills his heart with fear,

To age into hate,

And be unleashed like scents from a jar.

He's sweated and toiled to love his ruin

To immerse himself in his new indignity.

He's found the end and willingly shares it,

Setting it free

And mocking his maker with it.

Came upon the world with new eyes

Blinded,

By, "pay for" and "buy this,"

Thinking, " money will be my savior and guide."