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
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
©1999 - 2018 Mary Barnett / Moodesigns