The Crowning Glory
...inspired by 'An Artist' by Seamus Heaney
He keeps himself confined,
to bluster now, and remonstrate
the struggle being more than he can bear.
Pieces of him pulverized, fashioned from
the sweat of his own making to a glimpse
of the immortal, just a glimpse, but not
the crowning glory.
So many vestiges, heros in the making,
but a careless chip, an errant slice,
consigns them to the beggars pile,
without that patina of agelessness.
Never ready, never groomed to wear
that sacred halo on their heads,
the crowning glory.
Once in a while a piece emerges,
bursting from the cold, defiant marble.
His fingers can't work fast enough
to realize this masterpiece,
fingers, limbs and face
in perfect form become eternal,
the promise of a wreath, the crowning glory.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2012
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