Losing Peace

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-
otte-
d hills.

The sweat is lingering, and dr-
ip-
ping
Down my forehead, nearly blinding me before
I even begin to
d
i
g
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.

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