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Recreation Etched From Graphic flaws.

Updated on January 13, 2010

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,
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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