Self-Made

The man who wasn’t thankful
Walked down the city street;
He looked up at tall buildings,
Their sun-kissed heights to greet.

He heard the roar of subways
And smiled for power sung,
Then headed to the river
Where sparkling bridges swung.

They swung through foggy whiteness,
Rose into sight, went down,
And he was full of joy for
His lovely dancing town.

The man who wasn’t thankful
On this Thanksgiving Eve,
Was glad he was alone with
The thing he did conceive.

Tomorrow would be lifeless,
With God-thanks everywhere,
But he would have his statue
That stood before him—there.

A strong heroic giant,
Who leaned his will through space,
And who, in move unmoving,
Pressed into every place.

Invincible, unyielding,
No “thank you” in his eyes,
He bid you, if you knelt there,
To love yourself and rise.

The man who wasn’t thankful
Stood solemn, light and free,
His eyes upon his spirit
And glad that he made he.

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s