The proverbial chisel awaits for the hammer
To fall and to give shape to a body of mind,
None ever has before seen anything of kind
Yet the heart hesitates letting the hand stammer.
A moment not as such comes but once per eon
Awaiting to be grasped, for ever too soon gone,
By the sun, by the clouds, by the rain or by dark,
Through silence, through great bangs, through Man and its kind hell.
So when the creaking raft lowers anchor to dwell
Believe not dry feet words, trust yourself and embark
For if this journey costs it is yet worth it all;
Hesitance may ponder over the need to stall
But the hand may not stop just as the heart must beat,
So shall the eye still see despite all Life’s blankets
Reminding who forgets of work still to complete;
The mind is a glutton and the soul its banquet.
Perfection à dessein, à action, à moyen.