David

David My hands are worn and dry. My eyes have yet to see the sun in days. The only light I feel is what has come through the worn out walls that shelter me. The marble is becoming David. I am focused on his face. The stone helps to represent his tangled eyes. His flesh is warm under my hands as I debate what I shall do with his hair. David is becoming the marble. I focus on his hands next. The hands that killed Goliath. The veins that send pulses of blood throughout his body. I carve each rib with authenticity. As if I am capturing his breath as it escapes from his timid lips. I make his stance powerful. I make the strength of his shoulders justified. My statue of David.