Word of Stone
A Dialogue with the Artist.
I table my mallet and chisel
For a moment's pause to look.
The plaster model is clean,
The design is good.
Pure stone waits before
My unspoken prayers,
"God, forgive, this is wrong work."
The marble whispers back,
"Free my spirit, do not enslave me."
My lips reply in silent words,
"But I am paid to carve a monument;
To victory, warriors, and swords."
Through my naked hand the stone
Speaks, "Then I will die,
God made us for beauty."
"Us?"
My chisel and mallet beg logic:
"Beauty does not pay,
I work for money, to buy food, so
I may live."
She whispers, "Must you live?
Or would you not be
Beautiful as God made you?"
So I carved with the master's care
And
The butcher's monument became
An angel who's banner said, "PEACE."
And I did not get paid.
(c) Adron Dozat 2015
Thank you for visiting and reading my poem. I hope you enjoyed it and that it blessed your day.
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(c) A.E. Dozat 7/25/15
