Sculptor Of Words

I really can’t say, how it all came about;
somehow, I became a sculptor of words;
voices are troublesome, when they shout;
and poetry is the sculpture of nerds.

They always say if the shoe fits; wear it;
so I slipped those shoes on my feet;
they squeeze my feet; till I can’t bear it;
and often, consider words of retreat.

I sculpted a reality; three dimensional;
one, that others could see and hear;
crafting each word; I was very intentional;
soothing sorrows and calming fear.

I crafted each word in my 3D reality;
placing God’s beauty on verbal display;
I won’t be around to view its finality;
for, I’m the sculptor, with feet of clay;

It’s said the pen is mightier than the sword;
so I sheathed my sword in its scabbard;
words are not meant for some useless award;
healing others, is what really mattered.

I took all the pain, I had, hiding inside;
and shared all my sorrows and fears.
Together; we could, all sorrows, divide;
and wash them away with Love’s Tears.

I’m only a poor stand in; an imitation;
filling in for the great Sculptor above;
the One who creates without limitation;
the Master Sculptor of Love.