The destiny of mankind’s timeless troubles, Begins but blindly buried beneath the rubble. As dreams of living begin in each eager soul, The soul too, will seep into the veins of marble.

And so it will begin slow, the plan of all plans, To shape and sow the stone that seeks to stand. But, as carving is freed through the hoping hand, The imprisoned statue too, will chisel the man.

The soul yearns to be free, yet toil is its travesty? No, man must move through muddled morality, Because humanity alone bears no greater tragedy, Than to witness a lost Sculptor without fantasy.

Yield not for the labor needed to challenge fate, Or the faltering hand that forgets its fervent Faith. Believe in the One that strikes at stone for shape! Believe in that soft courage; the statue can’t wait.