The heavy feeling of knowing there’s work to be done
My burlap sack is ripe with remorse for the tools I’ve brought
I’ve lost the calm I once had from the kn-
The sweat is lingering, and dr-
Down my forehead, nearly blinding me before
I even begin to
Through the pile of old things, I know
My h a m m e r is missing.
Heaps of decaying building material before me
And I have become just as worthless.
My jaw tightens,
My muscles tense
My core shakes,
My arms burn
My legs propel me
towards the heap.
My F i s t becomes
My missing h a m m e r.