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Paint me into your mirror
I am a reflection, nothing more
this is apathy’s gift
for I no longer am whole.
Paint me into your memory
an apparition, nothing more
hollow within
no substance and no soul
shape me back into being:
carve me from the granite of your heart;
with sighs breathe life into me—
Your chisel still has a use.
Sculpt me upright, standing tall
and holding roses in my hand
fragrant, seductive
roses
"Paint Me"
Copyright © 1999 by Mary Barnett
All Rights Reserved |
