Woodwork

A mist of sawdust moved by the exhalation of a sleeping craftsman

With a start he wakes blinking in the late afternoon sun that slinks its way through the drowsy shack

Crafter raised from his slumber and tools pointed to the block before him he dived

Sculpting and molding, scraping and slicing

The block dwindling in unison with the force of the craftsman

Draw a circle here and drill through it over there

Another circle another drill, dull cube after cube created

The craftsman smiling a crooked grin mockingly at the generated beauty of the block before him

Slice hither and tither, helter and skelter till its function lay obvious

Sand here, scrape there till as smooth as the curves of a newborn nose

Well that won’t do, slice that and sand some more

Now that just looks silly, more slicing, more scraping

The splinters his medals of honor the craftsman erect with pride stared down at his creation

White paint like snow seldom fallen here, three coats ought to do it

Comfortable leather straps, that won’t chafe for at least five hours

Cover it all with clear intent, to protect from the human elements that danger its beauty both inner and out

Finally it is done!

God curse the madam who sees this man for she has been blessed enough through sight alone!

Light afoot and heart alike the cobble roads felt none so hard and cold

God grant the blind with great fortune for those who missed the chance to see beauty such as mine

Tis only fair compensation!

And God bless the man working too hard to look up and see only my back as they will never see such beauty again

Oaken doors creaked open to deafening silence

Company aghast to the newest arrival, invitation in hand

The shock like a bite slowly but painfully ebbing away shuffled as he sprang

Greeting all passed with a stagnant smile

He reached for the powdered shoulder of his motivation

Turning with dull curiosity she looked to her love seeing not flesh but wood

Not skin but paint

No eyes but hollow holes

And no mouth but a staring, toothy smile. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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