Wistful
And listless
And also quite distant
I hold my future in my hands
It's hard as a rock
And yet I stand
On uneven ground
Trying to come around
To the idea that is meant for me
This rock I found
Out at sea
Is a mystery
Covered in moss
It is slimy to touch
It is hard to hold
But it may hold treasure untold
If I where to break it
If not
Then I mistake it
For any plain old rock
It feels too hard
And the moss too soft
Too heavy
And yet
Just not what I imagined it to be
Where is the clay?
So I can form my future
I am an artist
You would think
The medium of my future
Would be a bit more
Fantastical
But here it is
A rock
And I have to learn how to handle it
How to hold it
How to mold it
I mean,
Rock is just stone after all
Maybe this was made with artistry in mind
"David" was not sculpted in clay
But in stone
Maybe this stone I hold
Has the power to be so much more
Maybe it is something I should be more grateful for
It will take time
And lots
And lots of
Chipping away
And scrapes
And cuts
For mishaps
And edges sharp to the touch
But I will be stronger for it
I know it
So I'll hold it
For now
Until the stone has warn down
And is soft enough to carve
Until I get my tools
My chisel must be hard
And my determination mighty
Even if my hands
Are trembling Slightly
It will be alright
