A granite face, a brow of stone.
An edifice hewn by hands, my own.
A monument of outward might
A bulwark bold and strong by sight.
Solid, firm, forbidding form,
My shelter sought in raging storm.
A self-defense from all lifeís schemes,
Concreted vault to save my dreams
From boasted strength to each willed breath,
A framed facade, but boding death.
Impressions fail when gales are born,
When handholds slip and hopes are torn.
Shards of lightning scorch and sear,
Breach the flinted front with fear.
Pealing thunder, marrow pounds,
Quaking thoughts, distrust resounds.
Wrathful winds heave lashing rain.
Against the ramparts built in vain.
A wandering streamlet threads a trail
To hidden rifts that rive and fail.
Fine fissures that avail, embrace
Rivulets that descend and trace.
Heavenís mist conforms and flows,
Into the heart of stone, its woes.
The hurts and wounds, the smallest flaw,
Of blighted touch and slights that gnaw.
A sacred drop, anointing dew,
A promise to remake, renew.
Descending deeper to the core,
To bitterness, with arctic hoar.
In the crevice, icy, chilled,
The essence freezes, the hollow filled.
Expands, increases, magnifies,
Cleaving with its gentle pries.
The slivered marble falls away
Sundering true from handmade clay.
Might, resolve, cemented guard,
Reduced to rubble, fallen hard.
Revealing now a diamond pure,
Eternityís power to endure.
Godís violent love, His gentle win,
The mystery of the Rock within.
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