You are my
staff.
You are my
staff of
green bamboo.
I made you, and that is the
truth.
I fed you when we were young, gave you to drink of love and sunshine, of blood and tears. I watered you with the sweat of my brow and the shattered pieces of my heart. We grew together from a distant place.
I found you on the sidewalk.
I cut you carefully from your splintered roots and carried you in my hand, your greenness whispering to me quietly the songs we sang so long ago.
I forged and sharpened the twin caps of metal on your ends, giving you your deadly points. I wrapped soft black cord tightly around your middle, forming your grip. I balanced and weighted you with the white sand of the desert. I polished you to shine and reflect the moon.
I stripped the deadness from about you and twirled you idly, a plaything.
You are my staff, my mind, me. You are the bridge that none may pass. You are my staff that none may take. Mine. Always. You are the truth.
Stealing the song from the wind, you blur in my fingers, a picture of completion. You are the staff. I am the staff. We are the new creation.
Cool in my hand, you are my staff of green bamboo that none shall take.
And that is the truth.