In this world full of broken people,
Why was I chosen to be the copper?
To be hammered into thin sheets and soldered
To be pressed between two pieces of broken,
Colorful glass
To become a fractal that fills in the lines, branching
Branching between the pictures
Never seen but for the few and far
Who see the between.
In a way I am broken.
Over time, I rust, and whether, and
You can't melt back oxidation.
Less and less am I every time
I'm placed between new pieces of pretty
Broken
Sharp
Glass.
And each picture I help glue back together is smaller.
I wonder, will there be anything left of me
After my current picture?
I've already been pressed so thinly,
Spread so far,
A copper foil on a gorgeous painting
Pieces of me brushed away.
I hope they do not try to scavenge me again.
I don't believe they would succeed.
I hope I paint a pretty picture with you, my dear.
A patchwork painting of different mediums, including me.
YOU ARE READING
Air Conditioning
شِعرVent poetry It's frowned upon putting your heart on your sleeve with such a weak code like a three number pin. For both of our sakes I hope you aren't the type to spend your time digging your claws in and working to decode someone else's words an...
