The Sculptor

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by Zen Gardner


With a  slow, steady pace he swings and hits
With the hammer he strikes his blows
Now up, then down with a pummeling sound
As he digs for the figure enclosed

He chips and carves, then stops and stares
As he wipes his brow and sighs
Then it’s back with a whack and another piece cracks
As the monolith sheds its size

Now no one can see what the artist perceives
Or why such persistent pursuit
Of a form inside as if buried to hide
From the hammer and chisel’s repute

But the sculptor strives on in his labor of love
Though he strikes with the force of a blow
To free the form that’s entombed inside
…alas David, di Mikelangelo!


From earthen clay and rough hewn stone
Came the sages and seers we revere
Why is it then as we break and mold
We protest, or shiver in fear?

 We all come deep from the quarry of earth

And are sculpted and hewn for our tasks
With strong skilled Love only seeking the best
Bringing freedom from weights and the masks

So when the blows seem to so far exceed
What we thought we could ever bear
And can no longer stand all the pain we feel
Or rejection and depth of despair

Remember the sculpting, steady and true
Is Creation just freeing us here
Relax and receive as we learn to perceive
That the pain is illusion and fear

Remember the process, co-creation in love
As we each are such similar stones
And what’s been begun let creation complete
Though it carves ‘ere so deep to the bone

So what may seem to be punishing blows
Are a process of true love alone
That free us from shackles and encasing weights
That had us entombed within stone!

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