I didnt win light in a windfall,
nor by deed of a fathers will.
I hewed my light from granite.
I quarried my heart.
In the mine of my heart a spark hides
not large, but wholly my own.
Neither hired, nor borrowed, nor stolen
my very own.
Sorrow wields huge hammer blows,
the rock of endurance cracks
blinding my eye with flashes
I catch in verse.
They fly from my lines to your breast
to vanish in kindled flame.
While I, with hearts blood and marrow
pay the price of the blaze.
