Bit by bit, like the wall of a deep dark cave with its enemy trickling down over it, corroding it with the acids. But the wall, refusing to give in and holding ground rock steady.
A few cracks have come now over the ages as waves and storms tried fruitlessly, to decimate your stand. The tricking water seeps in, bringing the venom and a small part crumbles.
What seems as a wound is in reality a miracle, for the implosion has given way to the most beautiful of figures, that of God.
The image of God. Hope is God.
The figurine of hope, of God.