The Line, a Poem

The Line

So once upon a time I went and drew my line in the sand;

Then I took a shovel, and dug, and dug, till I hit solid stone;

Then I took a pick, and beat away with my own bare hands,

Until I had entrenched that line, as mine—as mine alone.

So I set forth to meet the rising sun, and to conquer the waning moon,

For though the wind whisper in my veins, the fog chill me to the bone—

Although the monsters that I see leave souls and bodies strewn—

I shan’t fear, I shan’t take fright, for that line is mine—alone.

They told me I should heed them, they said I will need them,

And they would pretend my heart, my mind, my soul was theirs to own—

I gazed upon them, surprised, the lies, the evils beyond my ken—

I pointed them to face that deep-cut line, the line—is mine—alone.

They think they have the right to judge—but condemnation won’t be mine,

They have no power over me, or this freedom that I’ve known;

They would suffocate my soul, and bind me to a devil’s shrine—

They can’t take what I don’t give,

                                                and this line

                                                            is mine

                                                                        alone.

4.26.11 12:17am