Day 517: Chiseled
∴
the work of my hands
does achingly go
as i carry the work of my heart
in tow.
’tis a chiseled piece –
the marble of man –
that crumbles
in misshapen splint,
but beneath
and under
the laborer’s hand,
who works not boastful
nor reticent,
comes strong and pristine
that work of me,
that is the labor of love,
and without,
i buried
and shapeless be;
this marble
that i am made of.
∴
