Miraculous Hammer

[J Hillenburg]

Miraculous Hammer




You once believed yourself impervious to history, protected
by unique powers and qualities associated with your hand.
You were mystified by your own nature, notoriously affected
by unrealistic expectations and less than righteous demands.
Time wrought its way with your perceptions, the future is dim,
its promises remain insubstantial to you, illusory and unclear.
You were certain of all outcomes, and your intentions were grim,
you believed that your angel of mercy would still yet appear.


You coasted on past accomplishments, smug and cocksure
of your abilities to a dangerous and unreasonable degree.
You expected fortune though you could never quite assure
that it would clarify your countless doubts and set you free.
Time has warped you, the world has irrecoverably changed,
and its monuments are rancid with the stench of the dead.
You were purified by ambition but with no way to arrange
some glimpse of an angel of mercy as you lied terrified in bed.

You cannot fathom your own mind, you are hopelessly lost
in some idea of identity that you have borne for far too long.
You are disabled by justifications that cannot carry you across
this great assembly of light, this churning, murky gulf of song.
Time has betrayed you, there is little loyalty left to adhere to
that has not been caricatured in some sneering, bitter manner.
You have been careless with your devotions, and rarely true
to the visions emblazoned in life by your miraculous hammer.