Breaking along the fissures formed,
maybe long before we were born.
Sawing into the quick.
Clean a cut as we can get.
Try along another way,
push and pull against the grain
shatters a beautiful face.
What a way to sadden a sculpture.
Here we are;
found formless,
deep within the earth.
Amorphous,
shapeless before birth.
Imagine
what we could be.
Cleave
ourselves into more manageable
pieces.
Cleaned to be inspected.
The reason
for pulling us out of the ground
was the give us life.
Understanding the grain;
our deep
crystalline structure.
Feeling inside of this
most ancient stone,
who we are.
First cut and we bleed
another spark of energy.
Once rough hewn out of stone,
grind and polish up our zones.
Detail cuts and stark relief,
eyes shine and chiseled cheeks,
lips and mouth barring teeth,
might even be a smile.
Washed and oiled,
finished now.
The sculptor’s hand put the tools down
and sheds a tear for we exist
where only stone was before this.
With care we were shaped
and formed,
and guided.
Brought out of our
shapeless prisons.
One missed stroke,
and we would be over.
Countenance to last forever,
or be smashed and burned
in sacking temples.
Our eyes will never close,
and our skin will never feel,
but we will not betray,
we’ll keep the secret safe.
Such is the way
we were made,
from the heart of the world.
HG – 2022
