What if

life
is a series of events
piled upon themselves
little pieces of clay
each individual moment stacked
and compiled in a pile

and

what if
I
am only a thought and gesture
of pure will shaping little
globs of moments into more
than globules but rather making
a curved and carved statue of beauty

and

O this outer series of events

and

O this inner power of will

creating skin and bones and mouth and eyes
to feel and stand and talk and see

and

O me

what if
I am
just what has been put together
like words and thoughts
on page and time
like this poem.

— VH McKinnie

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