(for a project in which I was supposed to describe my existential self or who I am in an existential manner or some convoluted thing like that. i sort of preferred not to answer the question)

 

You’d ask me who I am, and how I’d know.

You’d ask me what material weaves my soul?

There are few depths and lengths to which I’d go;

My mind is not tame yard or shallow shoal.

My lock is not a keyed and open door

For any man to rest his curious eyes.

My stock is not new made in earthly forge;

I am no weapon when the battle flies.

My barrel is not straight and gleaming bright.

I hold myself against no poor man’s head.

Shuttle and loom are my weapons, my pride.

You pierce my peace with loaded balls of lead.

In time, and without deadly mortal tools,

I may discover this, the quest of fools.