Eyes drawn blank from the pained portrait
Staring back at me, shimmer in and out
From the offset of these listless lids;
Twin lighthouses through speckled fog
A flippant form, convalescing from
The fractures converging to every
Broken promise born within,
Flitters forth towards abject abandon
A question grows out of the pockmarked
Black, dissolving into tendrils beneath
Seeking hands of rigid architecture;
Two stones lost to the stoic creek
Muted colours in disparate geometric
Shapes—sail across uneven ridges of
This earthen canvas, searching for the
Brush that bore them to become Art
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