On a canvas our lives are drawn,
born of purity, thrust into dawn.
Colors seduce, every stroke another day,
our every action a shade of gray.
~
Hardships endured many tears ago,
the pain forgotten, losses to forever show.
With each scar we’re sculpted, our hands bear the tools.
Minds write the stories of masters and fools.
~
Covers ever changing as we choose,
pages between paid our dues.
Lines filled in, some hues gone astray.
Upon our death the frame we’ll display.

~*~
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