The Artist in You
A vein in me narrows a little bit every day,
I have tethered myself to shallow promises;
strengthened my organs of clay,
and deceived them to believe
Forever is either momentary bliss or death.
But then I heard a call in the blinding dust, echoing;
I saw you assembling pieces of my skin,
meaningless, disintegrated, ignored-
And sewing them up considerately;
A new form generating in creases of cordial hands;
a miracle stitched up all together,
by an artist devoted to life.
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