Artemis' Pensieve

n e v e r

My eyes are the sea
That would never drown a soul.

My hands grip weakness stronger than any other.

My soul
Is
cold

And my heart is young.

All of this sums up
me
     —Never a chap so capable.

Funny!
From this, the mirth is never amiss.

My laughs are then painted by the tips of a broken brush,
Dipped in jarred paint:

Colored within the lines and all
But never were they the right hue.