The Creator's Folly

Neil....I carved him from whispers,
From fragments of dreams,
Chiseled perfection into his bones,
breathed life into his soul.

His face, a sculptor’s envy,
Lashes shielding storms
Eyes of stormy grey,
That saw everything, yet revealed nothing.

I gave him curls of midnight,
Framing a face serene,
Lips curved, poised in restraint,
A smile rare as a rainbow.

I clothed him in elegance,
Immaculate whites and somber greys,
A gentleman forged from ideals,
With manners subtle as silk.

I made him kind yet distant,
Polite, yet remote,
A healer who felt nothing,
A savior who needed saving.

But as I shaped his world,
As I placed him in rooms with shadows,
Beside windows kissed by dawn,
Something shifted
The creator was no longer untouched.

His beauty mocked me,
His silence drew me in,
His coldness stung,
And yet, I longed to thaw it.

He was everything I dreamed,
Everything I couldn’t touch.
A perfection I could never possess,
A flawlessness born from my own flaws .

I made him detached,
So he would never break,
But then I shattered,
Falling for my own creation.

Pygmalion loved,
And his love stepped out of stone,
Yet when I reach for Neil,
He keeps moving away,
Forever out of my reach.
In the recesses, of my mind.
His breath, but an illusion.