As the chisel strikes the marble, so the psyche shapes the man.
Perfect in his alabaster, carving self from his own hands.
And once honed, his craft can grow by drafting bodies made of stone
Sourced from quarries free of worry, something he can call his own.

If he wishes to ascend beyond his animal desires,
He must grow a patience cold enough to ***** the raging fires
Burning hot against his skin and so within his weary soul,
For his enemy resides in him, and stokes the glowing coals.