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Monday, July 16, 2007

Driving Past Rock and Stone

I once saw a construction worker, chiseled and grizzled; smoking a short ivory cigarette in the growing red heat of a newly formed day. Drying some tears, I passed him by; and he seemed to me the most masculine male of a man I'd ever see in my days; especially now juxtaposed to my face, wet with tears. I seemed a little boy driving past a man, but a man who'd never let his emotions show no matter what weighed underneath his hard construction hat. While he a stone, I felt glad to be clay, showing the thumb prints which had pressed me into the shape I now displayed. I didn't want this masculine mold, impressing the world by being tough, meanwhile packing a bomb within to blow up from something small. While losing a battle with my emotions, and letting it all out, although feeling weak I felt thankful for my seemingly weak ways. My lady, She had forgiven me and I felt it undeserved. My gratitude gathered in small slithering tears, slipping down my cheeks to be smeared into my sleeves. I drove to work past a man made of metal and stone, his chimney lips pressed, puffing out smoke from the wick of a bomb within foreshadowed to explode.

3 comments:

  1. I think your story and wording is excellent. I wish that I could write that well... do you give english lessons...for fre??? Lets hook up, call me sometime.

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