Hand and Chisel

Hand and Chisel 12/29/2011

A block of marble cannot breathe
And cannot make mistakes
Soulless and dead
Smooth and cold.

The sculptor can chisel
What his mind can imagine
Gouging out a man
From a lifeless lump of rock.

God has made us better
And God has watched us grow
Speaking in our ears
And walking in our midst.

We are born without clothes
And we are knitted in the dark
Each cell and DNA with its own purpose
And its own instructions
Written in sequence
And written in code.

At that moment
All things are possible
As perfect as we will ever be
Innocent and sweet.

Damaged by others
Before we ever knew
Abusing themselves
And debilitating the defenseless.

We emerge as clay
In a world that is dying
Cursed and infected
From the inside out.

Our minds are attacked
By thoughts and doubts
Lulled to sleep
And distracted by greed.

Pulled by a manufactured gravity
Into the ceaseless pursuits
Far from our purpose
And far from the truth.

With no time to question
And little power to change
Controlled by committees
We never see or know.

An inhuman dream
Wastes and diminishes the good
Holding them back
Unheard and unseen.

Brainwashed by lies
Told over and over again
We doubt what we see
And question what we know.

All eyes kept on the surface
We are told we are safe
While the young are indoctrinated
That we never lived at all.

Chipped away by the chisel
And reduced to who we are
Either hardened for truth
Or ripe for the fall.

Let the rotten fruit rot
And let them fall to the ground
Unfit for food
Dead and dying.

He has made us strong
And he has given us the truth
But never does he force
What we should receive.

The greatest of artists
Has fashioned us his own
Holding out his hands
For us to take and hold.

We are here
The greatest of creation
Either for glory
Or for shame.

Ours is the choice
To accept or deny
To shake the world
Or die in silence.

We have the heart
And we have the soul
To create and inspire
But greatest of treasures
Comes from the spark
That only God can bestow.