The mind grows like stone reshaped by rain.
Not in torrents, but drip after drip.
You want fireworks, quick sparks, don’t you?
A flash, applause, the rush of the thing.
But this is a grind, ox versus plow.
The soil resists, the hands blister raw.
Books heavy as boulders, breaking your back.
The clock sneers; you hear its cruel ticking.
Truth hides behind corners, laughs at fools.
No shortcuts here, no magician’s quick hand.
Each word learned like carving through granite.
Each thought gained, a stuck thorn plucked out.
You curse the slowness, chew on the struggle.
But wait, grit and blood make the diamond.
Sisyphus climbing, stone up, stone down.
The real lesson: hard labor never ends.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Online) - Published: September 28th, 2025 05:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
Online)
Comments3
Some look for ease and rest in an afterlife, if there is such a place I hope that it is full or those labors that put callus's on the hands, strength in the muscles and builds strong bones of determination. A lovely write my friend
Thanks my friend for sharing your feedback and support
My pleasure
Liked it.
The search for truth and enlightenment can be (is) a hard slog, clearly described there. Felt strengthened by your poetic definition..
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