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Jun. 11th, 2002 11:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravencallscrowsWriting a bit again.
I recently saw an acquaintance describing a period of spiritual transformation, and felt like writing something. I thought this was going to be a piece about an emergent butterfly initially, but once the words started forming mental images, it became something completely different. Maybe i'll end up writing a zoological one yet.
Sculpted
Sometimes it's hard
To be the stone
Under the sculptor's chisel
As with each strike chips fly away
Sometimes the stone feels
About to shatter
Beneath the next blow to be struck.
The hammer falls,
The chisel cuts,
A cry of pain as the stone
Breaks apart
Standing in reflection
The stone sees the work emerging
The perfected vision of the sculptor.
It is difficult to yield
The stony will to the sculptor
To watch the shaping
As it goes on:
The purification of the soul.
Bur rest assured in the knowledge
That the chisel removes all but the perfected vision of what can be.
Welcome to the outside of the chrysalis. Growth is rarely comfortable while it's ongoing, but it is always worth it. Learn how to use your wings, butterfly. I'm thinking it's right there, but although the image is there for another piece, the rest of the image hasn't crystallized around it, and i'm not going to try and force the verse, because i always feel like i'm writing such crap when i do.
On other notes, had dinner with Gwynn and Lauren tonight. They've found that Woodinville seems to be to their liking, and have really enjoyed their time in the Pacific Northwest. I'm thinking that when they move out here, we'll end up spending a lot of time together.
I recently saw an acquaintance describing a period of spiritual transformation, and felt like writing something. I thought this was going to be a piece about an emergent butterfly initially, but once the words started forming mental images, it became something completely different. Maybe i'll end up writing a zoological one yet.
Sculpted
Sometimes it's hard
To be the stone
Under the sculptor's chisel
As with each strike chips fly away
Sometimes the stone feels
About to shatter
Beneath the next blow to be struck.
The hammer falls,
The chisel cuts,
A cry of pain as the stone
Breaks apart
Standing in reflection
The stone sees the work emerging
The perfected vision of the sculptor.
It is difficult to yield
The stony will to the sculptor
To watch the shaping
As it goes on:
The purification of the soul.
Bur rest assured in the knowledge
That the chisel removes all but the perfected vision of what can be.
Welcome to the outside of the chrysalis. Growth is rarely comfortable while it's ongoing, but it is always worth it. Learn how to use your wings, butterfly. I'm thinking it's right there, but although the image is there for another piece, the rest of the image hasn't crystallized around it, and i'm not going to try and force the verse, because i always feel like i'm writing such crap when i do.
On other notes, had dinner with Gwynn and Lauren tonight. They've found that Woodinville seems to be to their liking, and have really enjoyed their time in the Pacific Northwest. I'm thinking that when they move out here, we'll end up spending a lot of time together.
