Not only are we artists, but we are art
sculpted of love,
and brought forth to reflect, to resound, to embody
the beauty that bore the world.
with roots, dug deep in solitude enmeshed within the web of all that we see,
and all that is seen,
we become the blood and flesh of dreams.
composed of light and shadow of stillness and motion
Flung forward from the womb of life like the Stardust we are,
and we are the resonance of unscripted night
lost between laughter, and lament
of eternal gain
of time spent
the self we see
the self we dream
the self You imagined us to be
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