THE SCULPTOR
This massive, weighty thing, a giant granite rock,
Cut out of mountainside, it sits as one great block.
Transported far away from ice and winter snow,
Cold is left behind. Now, in sculptor’s studio.
Shattering hammer blows, the hard granite, pounded.
Giant pieces flying, sharp slivers compounded,
Rocks, pebbles pulverized, dust and smoke abounded.
What a waste of granite! I am so confounded!
I hate the sledgehammer, this mighty thundering!
I can’t bear this pressure! Why all this suffering?
Loud banging and clanging! What a cacophony!
How I miss the mountain, it’s peaceful symphony!
In one hand a chisel, the other, a hammer,
Sharpened edges cutting, painful shrieks, I clamor.
Knifelike wounds incisive, penetrating, stabbing,
Why won’t the sculptor stop, this vile, endless jabbing?
I am just a shadow of my old former self,
Discarded, cast off scraps, frivolous, on the shelf.
My tower of strength gone, now a life of weakness,
This bulk of power, gone. What I see is useless.
All I can see of me is what’s been chiseled off,
Scraps, shreds, and shards of rock, much dust to make me cough.
Sculptor smiled; I see me. (A mirror did arrive).
Inanimate rock lives! This dead rock now alive!
How can a heart of stone become a heart of flesh?
Does it take suffering, and pain in which to thresh?
To come alive with hope, and find the source of joy
Much of “self” pulverized, sin had to be destroyed.
What I once thought His tools, the chisels and hammers
Were unrequited love, loneliness and clamors,
Mundane duties of life, failure, futility,
Desire, hunger, longing, bringing humility.
The heart of the Sculptor, the core of life’s substance.
In His redemptive aims, we find His abundance.
The real meaning of life shown from heaven above,
Found deep within His heart, flows Calvary’s dear love.
Seth
Isaiah 51:1 “Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness and who seek the LORD: Look to the rock from which you were cut and to the quarry from which you were hewn;