My heart potential
Megalithic,
Waiting to be quarried
From the place it lies so cold,
In an ugly bed of stone.
Someone’s come and chiseled it
Out of the solid granite,
And somehow moved the enormous mass
To a place
Where it stands alone.
Now the artist hammers off
Huge chunks of
Outer nothingness,
Crumbling away the superfluous,
And the parts that do not go.
Now he’s filing finer things
Away and sanding out to smooth,
Bringing out my inner finish,
Glimmering in the know.
He steps back now to take a look
At my monolithic presence.
He’s heated me with his glowing torch
And washed me with sweat and tears.
He rubs the last rough
Aching part of my heart
And tenderly caresses it.
He makes me shine
In dark or light
And melts away my fears.
Yes, he truly freed me
From the place where I lay buried.
He set me up,
Established me,
For all the world to see.
He blasted all my shackles off
And prioritized my matters,
And left me there
To be eternal enigma,
A mysterious thing of beauty,
A paradox,
An answer
Of sure uncertainty.
-jenn long
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