PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The carver runs his hands across the rough bark.

Gazing into the white cedar.  Asking the wood what is to be.

A paddle.  A model canoe.  A toy canoe.  A mask...

He rests hands on the cedar.  Imagines dancing on his closed eye lids.

He holds a tool in his right hand.  Guiding his carving tools to bring out the hidden beauty.

Years as master carver.  Years of experience.

Now the carver runs his hands down the cedar.

There is unspoken sadness behind the blinding eyes.

The aged, worked hands lay the tools down.

The master carver weighted with the sorrow of loss.

Sitting down in his carving corner.

All the years.  All the projects.  All the wonders.

If the tools could speak of the dreams that came true through talented hands.

Experienced hands of creation.

A master carver aged into retirement...