New cracks in old stone
Just beginning to show,
Reveals things never shown
Things only one could know
Just beginning to show
A solid surface scrambles,
Things only one could know
Shedding into shambles
A solid surface scrambles
Every chisel brings a change,
Shedding into shambles
In time, it must arrange
Every chisel brings a change
Upon hard - headed rock,
In time, it must arrange
For none can beat the clock
Upon hard - headed rock
Reveals things never shown,
For none can beat the clock
New cracks in old stone.
Hard Headed
By: Miracle Man
6/3/2024
You’re “more stubborn than a splinter” a friend once said,
Many times, fight finished, I thought should have just fled.
During each angry test,
I wasn’t always the best,
And my mom always told me, Son you have a hard head.
Hard-headed folk - themselves they've caged,
for even if a point is proved,
they cannot hear it, and enraged,
they'll turn away and can't be moved.
Sept. 29, 2019 for Caren Krutsinger's
Brevity Poetry Contest No More Than Six Lines Poetry Contest
Hardworking, Hard Headed
Enthusiastic, Loving, Caring, Ambitious
The Daughter Of David
In Love With Little Mix, Netflix, And Youtube
Who Feels Guilt, Pain, And Sorrow
Who Fears Spiders, Snakes, And What Is In The Darkness
Who Would Like To See Little Mix, David Dobrik, And Kian and Jc
Residency In Hemet, California
An absolute-ist
has no place in my life.
I can be amused by them
but
we will
never
be
close.
The heart has this hard-headed habit
of hoping against the dimmest hope,
of hearing but not heeding
the head.
Though routinely it gets gravely hurt,
it is healed by time, enabled to cope,
unafraid once again to get
wounded!
A once healthy old man
all alone in the sand.
I reflect upon my past
The good and the bad.
All that I've had.
Why time went by so fast.
With a cough and a weeze
I rise up to my knees.
Then I roll a cigarette.
A hand through my hair.
A breath of fresh air.
At least they've not killed me yet.
Still one set of prints.
That really stinks.
No wonder I'm so lonely.
So back to my tent
where again I will vent
about losing my one and only.
Another day is done.
Wasn't that fun?
I lie down to read.
I can't find my book
though I look and I look.
So instead I smoke some weed.
A couple of good puffs
of fresh homegrown stuff.
My head vieled in fog.
Although a rarity
I have a moment of clarity
and decide to get a dog.
I now close my eyes
and await the sunrise
where it starts over again.
But such is the quandry
of this stoned, stupid and onery,
hard headed, homeless man.
The heart
has this hard-headed habit
of hoping
against the dimmest hope,
hearing
but not heeding the head;
thus, although it habitually
gets hurt,
it is healed by hope, enabled
to cope
and be unafraid to get wounded
once again!
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