Broken Sculpture
I'm not sure why I'm standing here,
I'm blinded by deceit.
I never know what's happening,
it's a complicated defeat.
Fears of unknown circumstances
circle the pedestal upon which I stand,
propped up like a statue
based on everyone else's plans.
I can't step down the crumbling stairs -
it's that fear of failing again.
It clings to me like leaves to a tree,
loosening grip every now and then.
I revel in those moments
where I'm free from clanging chains.
My heart starts beating again,
and warmth runs through my veins.
But then I become cold and fearful,
a statue I once again become.
The plaster pushes from all sides
and I'm frozen in place by what I'm running from.
My throbbing heart now stands still,
as if beating might make me break.
I pray to be noticed by a Sculptor
who will discover my own mistake.
He'll take the raindrop tears that fall,
and mix them with love and grace,
place them in the hairline cracks
and wrap me in His embrace.
He'll soften my rough exterior,
and mold me in His hands.
I'll stop my hurtful struggling
and surrender to His plans.
Allowing myself to step forward,
I make way down the crumbling stairs.
I stumbled and I fell,
and uttered hopeful prayers.
My Sculptor reached down,
and set me on my feet.
And then I realized with Him by my side,
there is no such thing as grim defeat.
(June 24, 2007)
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