In the middle of the destruction stands an artist, holding a flaming torch
Scouring the debris and darkness for the object he seeks.
Digging through stone and ash
Hoping to recover what once belonged to him.
The breath suddenly leaving his lips
As he plunges his hand into the blackness
Returning with the prize he desires
Clutched firmly in his grasp.
Setting his long sought discovery aside
He begins his maddening work
Sculpting, molding, shaping and creating
The artwork coming into perfect form.
Upon his frantic and feverish conclusion
Standing before him is a sculpture of perfection
A woman made in the image
That only his heart could create.
He retrieves his object of discovery
Tenderly launders, polishes and cleans it anew
Revealing a stagnant heart
In need of a home.
He thrusts his hand into the coffer of his masterpiece
Releasing the revitalized rhythmic beat
And steps back to behold
The love he feared lost.