Out of hellfire

October 11, 2008 · Posted in Poetry · Comment 

Out of hell, fire and thorn, I was born

And carved

Chip by chip,

Then chiselled to my bone marrow,

And left out to dry under

A sun that bleached my skin black;

Till I nearly became one with dust

Then sand-papered and polished with a thick wax

Now, here I stand like a fine sculpture - a son of the soil

My features stand out, and

My bust is set up

Ready to conquer anything that arises

In this hidden valley of a thousand hills