Copper

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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.

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