A Marvelous Privilege 

The pieces are rusted, ancient gears,
once the pride of industry, mechanized marvels,
Now they are little more than interesting trash,
neglected into oblivion, and then, when no longer useful
tossed aside and condemned as junk. Useless, abandoned
no longer of worth, as if it were their fault.

Let me tell you the truth. Beauty lasts forever and while age
neglect, or violent abandonment may change it’s form,
it is still there

Waiting for the artist, with eye and ear, to see beneath the rust
to the soul of beauty, to listen to what lives beneath the brokenness
and slowly restores what others have refused to see.

It is not easy this work. It is slow. but there is magic in it, and love,
and always God lends breath and life, a different kind of Resurrection,
and no one knows what will emerge, or how,

Only that the journey is slow, and glorious
and it is a marvelous privilege
to be a part. ,

About this poem. 

I could be talking about things. I could be talking about people.

Tom