Do It

Or... it feels better.

Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash

“The only limit to our realization of tomorrow will be our doubts of today.”

Franklin D. Roosevelt

The beggar's bowl
    held high
        toward closed doors—
            while timber
                waits uncut.

Your hands
    made for making,
        not for cupping
            scraps
                from another's feast.

The hammer sleeps
    in the toolshed
        while you practice
            genuflection
                at permission's altar.

*Dignity*:
    the grain of wood
        that runs straight
            through the work
                of one's own making.

Build it crude,
    build it crooked—
        but build it
            with your own sweat
                salting the boards.

Let them feast
    at their polished mahogany
        while you dine
            on bread earned
                from sawdust
                    and splinters.

The table you make
    holds more weight
        than any chair
            they might offer
                with strings attached
                    like puppet wire.

Stand upright
    at your own rough oak—
        King of the kingdom
            you carved
                from nothing
                    but will.