Bare Wood

Bare Wood



I am only bare wood.

All the varnish has been rubbed off;

The stain has been stripped away.

The knots, that were once branches,

Have all been sanded down.



As painful as it has been,

It has somehow been cleansing,

Less covered by the layers of living

Which masquerade

As part of my wood.



"Not so", said the Carpenter,

"I have new purposes

For your wood.

Aged, cured, seasoned with time,

You show true colors and original grain."



"My purposes will be clear

As you fit into this new piece

I am now building.

Let the chemicals strip,

The awl cut, the paper sand."



"Let go of the covering

Not essentially yours.

Release the past stains,

No longer the right patina.

Submit to my well trained hands."



"Remember that I chose you from

The pile of used planks,

Though I could have left you untouched,

Lying there satisfied

With your station in life."



"Yes, I have chosen you because

You are still in need of re-making.

I have a plan that includes you,

But first you must become

Bare wood."