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.