Re-creation Etched From Graphic Flaws.


Recreation Etched from graphic flaws.





Purity as once

my unblemished
canescent soul shone,
but tainted by the bright white lights,
that cast shadows on my life,
even as the white noise of applause,
paled me to a whiter shade.

I am a dark hoarse,
a voice that once trilled
brilliant images that
graced my muse.

Innocence is

the first sense
to flee the vile flesh,
like driven snow
it darkens from the sludge
we wallow in as years blow past.

But I can close my eyes
and remember the
incandescent brilliance
of my impeccable youth.

A canvas left white,
in my brush with God,
a masterpiece unfinished,
then flawed by the pigments
the earth put forth
in which I mixed later works.

Someday when

my soul leaves
my stained

carcass of parchment
etched with the sorrows
of missing the mark,
it will sail through white clouds,
redeemed as it basks in the
alabaster epitome

 of my own creator
and know pure

white beauty forevermore.


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