Strike The Hour

In the first hour, I did not know me
The world was new
Cold and unrelenting in its mercy
Who I would become did not matter
Just that I was to be had to be enough

In the second hour, I discovered me
Came to know the senses and sensations
Introduced to pain and kindness alike
And when I figured out what it was to be me
I discovered so much more to expand on

In the third hour, I understood me
All the realms at my touch
The vastness was mine to conquer
If only I knew how to count them
And I found I was not alone

In the fourth hour, I was tricked by me
Imagination had outrun potential
Others grew where I could not
Yet I expanded where they would not
And what we found was the sum of structured chaos

In the fifth hour, I restrained me
Wrapped a chain around my neck and bolted it
For what had awakened, I did not understand
But only in part would myself be calmed
And I knew I had met another facet of me

In the sixth hour, I studied me
As the observer tracks the jackal
The packs changed, the targets acquired
But the chain held strong
And I watched me strain the locks

In the seventh hour, I wounded me
A great gash carved from snout to tail
To rip away what made me
To replace it and renew me
Only too late did I see myself bleed

In the eight hour, I met myself
Stitched together and re-branded
A wolf carved from lesser dogs
And so the locks were undone
The intelligent predator set loose

In the ninth hour, I lost me
The jesters of decadence had pounced
No longer intelligent, no longer proud
The wolf was tested and defeated
But my chains could no longer reach myself

In the tenth hour, I killed me
Torn apart by what had once been bound in iron
A broken dog, left to whimper and rot
The only instinct left, to fade into the black
So it was I laid me down to die

In the eleventh hour, I forgave me
Wrapping up the scraps of bone
With unkind thread and serrated needle
A shell became a blanket for me
The new egg to grow and bloom into me

In the final hour, I accepted me
Part wolf, part jackal, part imagination
Because now I am myself
And that self is not alone
A noble pursuit ended in victory

A little something that hit me while on a long flight with no room to move. An interesting summary to say the least.

I hope you all enjoy.

2 thoughts on “Strike The Hour

  1. Mayumi-H says:

    The pentameter is a great structure for this, shade. It brings a control and sparseness to the text for each hour.

    I went back and forth on my interpretations of this, but I guess that is the point with poetry – what we pull from it for our own selves. I really liked the imagery and emotion in the fourth and seventh hours in particular: a revolt against oneself, whatever that “self” ends up to be. Personally, it felt…not robotic, but soulful machine-like? Like your anthropomorphized ships. Lots to think about regardless if I’m wrong, though.

    Thanks for sharing this bit of wading into deep thought!

  2. Thanks, Mayumi!
    When I started this, I approached it like I would approach a Shadow. Something that’s me, but not me at the same time. Which could very well be a souful machine. I’d certainly believe it.
    But by the time I had finished and cleaned it up, it feels like it became more than that. Like I really was on the outside looking in at myself. Not sure what that says about my own interpretations of me…hmmmm

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