Lines in the Sand

Sleepy words awaken
Like a stirred morning child,
Wincing through lashes at clarity
Betwixt dreams and noises outside.
They skip through their days
Slipping from grasp
Of convention, imagination,
Institution, alas
Like clay, paper, and notes
They become idle matter for craft
Until love cast the canvas
The artists, at last
As sketches and phrases
Lift illusion from pages
They carve blocks of hope,
Soulful forms, tall and ageless
Loves art, once feared
Had slipped through their hands
Appears simple and golden
Soft lines in the Sand

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