Perhaps Then... (Not A Man)

perhaps then, i am not a man.... i am the creek hidden deep in the woods, singing the hymn of rocks, and stillness. i am the gun laid down, for the last time, by the conscience of discontent. i am the cry of the child, born into a hungry world, the eyes of the mother, defying hope! i am the snail that dances, the deep growl of the dog, i am firewood, cut and stacked, in waiting. i am the kiss of the chapter, you read again and again... i am the crossroads, devoid of signs. i am the headstone faded by a hundred years, the old chair rocking by itself. i am the lamp left on, the door that creaks, the breeze that knows your hidden name. i am the tongue unlocking passions not yet defined, that you didnt even know you had. i am boots in the corner, that dance to the beat, awaiting feet, as if a lover. i am a new set of strings, on the old guitar, the sound hidden inside of music. i am the language of birds, the sign on the forehead. i am sin undressed and intimate. i am smoke from the chimney, of the abandoned house, the tin roof electric with rain. i am nothing a hundred times made over, the crease in the blanket, the indention on the pillow.... i am the grunt of god revealed, and the shovel of eternity!