Runes • Art • Self-Sculpture
Poem about art where a sculptor decides to leave a self-sculpture unfinished to signify life is never finished.

	Tweet
	Self-Sculpture I raised the sharp chisel into the air, And struck a corner from my stony space. Careful pressure bore a head bold and bare, On which nicks scored the features of a face. I chipped off flakes from the lid of the eye, And blew away the silt so I could see. Broad downstrokes impressed the stone to comply, As the upper body came to agree. I stepped back to ponder the increment, And watching me was the notion to cease, A man held within his own element, In a state ever just beyond release. I put aside the mallet and the knife, My art had found its reflection of life.

Runes • Art • Self-SculpturePoem about art where a sculptor decides to leave a self-sculpture unfinished to signify life is never finished.