A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth.
The Idea of a Man
Ask not what you can do for your father, but what your father can do for you
With a fencer’s hand you
Separate, skin from flesh, muscle from bone and blood from water
–
With the sun in your open eyes
–
You are a keeper of things, secret, sharp, forgotten.
With divisions in the soul there is a place for everything and still
A place to be a wild stallion, running free, forgetting her
And still you are a chronicler and a guardian
–
But the sun is high, you won’t even squint
–
Envy feeds you but has no place in your heart
Envy becomes you but you are
Not even here, not even there
You are a mirage, a vision burned into the eyes by the blinding light of the sun
