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Saturday, September 8, 2012

The Painting


She painted over me with pigments of her past.
Never letting my natural colors show.
Trying to created, she destroyed.
Turning a masterpiece into a piece with no master.
Before the paint was even dry
She was eyeing another canvas.
The once soft strokes of her brush
Turned to flogs from cat-o-nine-tails.
Now I sit on a back shelf
Forgotten in the dust…

© Sept 7, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

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