Your beauty is of chiseled stone, cold, hard,
unmoving and never loving, nor allowing one to touch.
You never share your feelings, never ask for help,
stubbornly refusing to be shaped or formed.
Attempts to help you grow require
calloused hands that swing the mallet
with such precision, chisel splitting stone,
bringing a vision seen only in the artists eyes
into focus as he works alone in the darkness.
Your look is of polished marble.
You are the victim of the artisans touch,
warm to the eye, yet cool as such beauty is slowly revealed, each layer peeled away exposes
one more level of your haunting image.
Beneath your hard cold surface I found your true beauty.
It was brought to light as the artist exposed not the stone underneath, but the reflection he sought.