That a life builds, grows
Is what she had heard.
But it sometimes felt
The opposite.
It was as if a life
Started with a mountain
A mass of granite
Immovable, vast
And then things happened:
Events, thoughts. The mountain
Was chipped away at
Incrementally.
Tiny etchings, furrows –
Surfaces scuffed, worn –
From the corrasions
Of many histories.
All that stuff that happens –
Happens to – as if
A man had no part
In events, that they
Were inflicted –
That he was a victim
When no, no.
That man is no mountain.
He built his own downfall.
He deserves what he gets.
MW Bewick 