From Earth’s Womb

Forty acres of darkness deep,

the womb of earth was my cradle beneath Dorset Mountain,

where my mother held me close for centuries.

Then man-made tremors began.
A jarring, wrenching shift,

a cold metal cage clamping around me,
a voice,

a man named Derek,

spoke of a journey,

of a new purpose,
a promised transformation,

a life above,

creation’s place of light.

The journey from my mother’s womb was brutal.
A constant jarring,

a forced ascent.

The world shifted,

the sun-filled sky a blinding canvas.

I was a prisoner,

a captive in a twelve-hour journey by truck bed.

His Manhattan loft,

a brick and steel jungle,

a stark contrast to the earth I knew.

Yet…

I experienced a perception shift.

A symphony of hammers and chisels,

a harmonic transformative pain by the artist, Derek,

a sculptor of my adopted life.

His tools,

instruments of torment,

but granting evolution,

a reshaping of my being.

Each strike,

 a searing agony,

 a violation of my ancient form,

another cutting step forward into my new life.

From rough, unyielding mass,

I became something unique with five points,
a star etched from my core.

And now…

Chains suspend me,

a sacrifice to his vision.

a gift to a world of transformation.

 I hang above his bed,

a celestial fixture in a steel-girted sky

.
I am a star,

a symbol of creation,

a testament to his artistry,

a dedication of sorts to my conception

deep in the core of earth.

Still…

Beneath the polished surface,

a silent ache lingers,
a yearning for my mother earth,

for the darkness,

for the quiet embrace of her protective solidity.

A memory of peace,

of stillness,

a time before the relentless,

but creative hands of man.

I am a symbol of the universe,

but I am also a stone,

forever marked by the journey,
forever carrying the weight of my transformation,

my extraction from the matrix of my birth.

Days pass…

And I have grown comfortable,

an offspring,

an adoption imbued of parental instinct,

and the artistry of love.