Holy Sculptor of my heart
in loving labour, man your crowning art
Life's greatest organ, tireless fist - first flex?
Began when Your breath did bless
From dust we came and dust we use
in various textures, layers and hues
Dabbing, stabbing, splashing, stroking
till the offering's altarized, drying
The greatest lens of all
resides inside our eyes
Yet with self-made lens, we scan your sights
Optic truth, our precious, never-realized prize
Earth cracking thunder
inspired kettle drums smashing nonchalance asunder
Wall of sound? A waterfall
Brooks and streams, variations on Your theme.
Holy Sculptor of my heart
This temple walks and talks, hope's others gawk...
but the only form that's truly pleased
is humble, broken, on its knees.
