May 4, 2012
The artist slaves
day after day
endless months
time floods by with
constant hard work.

The stone takes shape,
the artist struggles
ready to quit
but sees no alternative

Years of labor and
it's almost done,
only final trimmings remain.
The artist knows
it's no Pietà
but didn't expect it to be.

Never hidden,
people whispered as it morphed
into now; but
when it was finished,
voices pierced the artist.

A friend came and nodded,
it is no Pietà
and the artist fell
asleep that night in
a puddle made of tears.

The artist knew
had known
that the masterpiece was
anything but.
Walls crumbled,
a heart broke,
a pity, but
no Pietà.

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