A Work of Art

An unfinished canvas or half-molded clay,
I wish I would’ve known this before.
Together we are artists simply toiling away,
Like playing a game we play, but don’t keep score.
I look at you, my unfinished Mona Lisa my sleet reluctant masterpiece.
And I see the unclaimed truth.
We may be art, but you are more, the voice in my head doth scream “For sooth! For Sooth!
Your dreams are my clay, your aspirations, my air.
I shall dedicate myself in most every way, for their beauty is as silken hair.
The world may be cruel, but kind in part.
But you will be a masterpiece, a work of art.


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