That Sweet Face
Who's is that sweet female face?
A beauty like that does not exist in my world.
There, women are less perfect, yet more comely,
they spellbind with their imperfections.
Yet, if I were a painter I would attempt to capture
that ideal. Something to strive for,
without which, we are towers of conceit,
laying waste to ourselves.
The sculptor prays to his hands
that he might translate her from his mind,
but try as he might
something crumbles between his reach
and the clay he touches.
The same for the female sculptor
who tries to capture her inner vision.
What is that sweet face?
Only God knows, and She only tells you
when you fail and fail yet again.
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