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, heroes 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.