Sculptor's Misery

A sculptor resolved to craft a marble effigy,

A tribute to a beloved claimed by disease.

To caress the stone, to revere the shape of what once was.

How dire the destiny to erase from memory a form.

From the contours of their gaze to the curve of their lips.

The face of a sweetheart, now vanished from mind.

His fingers falter, incapable of carving away at that not remembered.

His fingers yearn, yet cannot trace the features of a forsaken love.

An old poem I wrote years ago