The poet has failed

VII This will be his last: in the end the memoir sought no perfection only mo(nu)mental substance.. And such has he lived, felt, inscribed the winds of berafflement into so many words, down down down; the sculptor has tried to unleash the angel, but alas! It wouldn't take flight – after all (the figure so splendidly carved, its prison chipped away) the marvel was still solid marble. The writer has failed: every syllable ground to absolute perfection, incontestable truth - to what result, and (one may ask) whose cure? still writes, feeds into his heart, words found in his pond of memory, and in the (de)light of yet another finely-crafted relic (absolutely,incontestably) The man behind has failed.