Thursday, February 23, 2012

Sometimes, I lie

Actually here's a poem to hold you over until I put my essay up in probably a week. :  ) My inspiration for this poem came from a conversation I had in Montana. I had been talking with some interns about how art is an expression of self which got me thinking if art is an expression of self then what are we and all of creation but an expression of God? The poem ended up being about something different but hey I can't explain how inspiration works. So here you go:

What is this man's beginning
but a mound of stone
breath of a greater origin
and the hands that carve him
Driven and Sure
so that no regret
is found within them
in every hew
and every break

a crevice is revealed

that was meant to be
moments of dust land
where they began
but this man's thoughts are stuck
on him, the creator
those careful hands
What love comes from the fingers
that form his hold!
That could crush
but never would
and this man
shaping nothing
of their eternal bond
is put on display
the public respond

Here they come
receiving from his purpose
in a small way he is there for them
it is not a performance
or one of effort
but a stance
Still and Unprotesting
granite though they are
they watch in awe
do they not see the signature
or that he is not preventing his fall?

To some hearts
a pick is laid
the process of being made
to others the surface thickens
harder than before
but it is with hope
that this man looked
to where the honor should always be
and saw those hands
those calloused hands
appluading he.

1 comment:

  1. I came here to say that I can't wait for a real post and then I saw this. It's like I wish for things and they just happen.