Calloused Eyes

In a realm of wood and tools, the carpenter toiled
Crafting dreams from timbers, his spirit unspoiled
With calloused hands, he shaped and carved
A mirror's reflection, his blade was starved

He chiseled his being, heart and mind intertwined
Seeking perfection, a masterpiece enshrined
Each strike of the mallet, a whisper of hope
Yet shadows of doubt in the corners would lope

His likeness emerged, yet never quite true
Eyes dimmed with frustration, a heart split in two
The woodgrain's embrace held secrets untold
As he etched his own story in grainy rough folds

He sculpted his laughter, his struggles, his fears
But the eyes in the carving held unending tears
The chisel's cruel kiss marked his labor's intent
A self-portrait marred by a relentless lament

Days turned to nights, and years slipped away
Still, his own image eluded the light of the day
For the essence he sought, so fragile and rare
Lay beyond his reach, lost in layers of care

Each attempt to perfect, a surrender to fate
As splinters of longing continued to grate
The masterpiece stalled an unfinished verse
A testament to battles he couldn't disperse

In the realm of the workshop, the candlelight dim
He gazed at his carving, a reflection within
No triumph to cherish, no triumphant acclaim
Just a carving that whispered of yearning and pain