It’s a rock, it’s a skull,
filled with pebbles and sand
and placed in my marble.
See how quick it is,
slickest and thick as slate;
bricks by the crate couldn’t outweigh it.
It’s a heavyweight on my shoulders, boulders
so big they bury bulldozers, bullies
and bold as angry words,
italicized and shifted.
It’s miraculous this head was ever lifted.

We all end up in a hole, when we die.
It’s pitiful; I pity the fool
that doesn’t dig hard; shovel the grit, and
live large; grind jaws, jackhammer and nail
every obstacle to the walls, because
in the end the curtain always calls,
a heavy burden;
a flag that buries us all.

The weight of the world behind these eyes,
but I carry it; chin up, like a crane,
every day my neck suffers the pain.
It’s a smear campaign; I’m keeping
my face out of the mud in vein.
Nitty-gritty in the muck, when
I carry the Earth in my head
like it’s a sack of nuts.
Planting my roots, bury them in the murk,
and grow up; yeah, growing pains hurt.
It’s berserk, but they’re worth
every inch, every pinch of dust;
every grind, each push is just
never enough; it’s tough terrain
but the gain’s insane, so push the clutch
and high gear this Bagger
like it’s a monster truck!
What’s the point if you don’t pressure luck?

We all end up in a hole, when we die.
It’s pitiful; I pity the fool
that doesn’t dig hard; shovel the grit, and
live large; grind jaws, jackhammer and nail
every obstacle to the walls, because
in the end the curtain always calls,
a heavy burden;
a flag that buries us all.

Here’s some rocks, a little food for thought;
don’t ever let those thoughts rust or rot.
A few loose in your noggin might get clogged
but that’s no reason to get bogged down.
Fired up? Good, let’s break ground.
Shift the earth, spin around,
tear it up pound-by-pound, until
there’s nothing left but the sound of metal
scraping at the edge of your skull like bevel;
gnawing on every stone and pebble, until
you’re ready to revel in the thought
that you’ve gone freakin' mental.
It’s okay to destroy and refill
with a void and conceal, that you inspire
to construct, to rebuild
the upheaval is okay, it’s alright
to be thrilled to be real, to be you,
to be whole then unglued,
rewired, to new screws to
let some be loose; the fuse is in you
you can choose to blow up,
you can choose to disrupt,
you can choose to implode or simply erupt.

We all end up in a hole, when we die.
It’s pitiful; I pity the fool
that doesn’t dig hard; shovel the grit, and
live large; grind jaws, jackhammer and nail
every obstacle to the walls, because
in the end the curtain always calls,
a heavy burden;
a flag that buries us all.

08/29/2014

Posted on 08/29/2014
Copyright © 2024 Jody Pratt