My Beard

This beard tells me
I will effect change,
I will outlast
For I now recall how
I was told myriad times
As a frightened child
By the bullies and the doubters
And weird interlopers
That I would never make it so far
As to be something of the man.

Yet here I am still;
Wide-eyed, narrow exposure,
I grew up believing the wolf alarms
Long after my peers had departed
For work and wives while I remained
Faint-hearted. Some said
My heart was not for restarting,
That I would not last until the morning,
And although my hand is sometimes
Shaking uncontrollably,
And although I cannot do so much
That all the others do so well,
My beard in the morning-room mirror
Through blind grit and bare graft
Tells me I am alive in daylight-bells,
My beard tells me, irrevocably,
That without the silent breaking
There is little point in a spell.

2 thoughts on “My Beard

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