Hollow

With a chisel on rock
he spent his days
carving for her
sculpting what he saw
creating what he felt,
everything that lay before him
Long nights, dark days
never strayed from the vision
carved and in flesh.
He lingered as the end neared,
not wanting to be parted
from his creation.
With the final touch
he wept silently.
When tools laid down
she was gone.
Sculptor and silence,
hollow inside.