My Log

Workers load Falcata logs into a truck in Trento, Agusan del Sur

For a hundred years and some
you have been telling me
take that chip off my shoulder 
and for an equally long time Lord knows I’ve tried
Though many others have tried, seems to me
so many more have simply given up and died
Such a simple thing 
but how do I tell my maker I died from a chip on my shoulder?
 
I tried, I tried. Oh, over and over and over I’ve tried
But still nothing seems to stop this painful slide 
This splinter embedded in my soul

And I cried.

For a hundred years and some
You have mistaken chips for what have been logs all along
It’s been a very long time carrying
Yet every time we think it’s over, 
we’re encouraged it won’t be long 
Not by one less step but just one more Furlong
We are weary and tired, we have journeyed 
We are without patience to log one more step

I tried, I tried. Oh, over and over and over I’ve tried
But still nothing seems to stop this painful slide 
This splinter embedded in my soul

And I cried.

There comes a time when the grave seems warmer
than the cold comfort of pretense that nothing is wrong
weighed down by the thousands of logs collectively 
and no one sees them and no one cares
Just your empty preoccupation and hollow stares
Why can’t you all just move on, just get along?
Wondering if your sun still shines when you close your eyes 
while darkness becomes us when I close mine
 
My lifelong burden I now lay at your feet
You’re so far behind the reality where my world
has strive to be “chip free” 
Now you are busily trying once again to “chip me” 
Best you know that beyond the purity of knowledge
nothing will be indoctrinating, injecting, impregnating,
inducing not even the promise of emancipating,
will I ever again allow your word to guide me 
 
I tried, I tried. Oh, over and over and over I’ve tried
And finally everything seems to have stopped 
Your splinter has been removed from my side

In celebration of freedom, I cried.


@Anthony2017mdh30Vibes