Poetry: “Of Nothing Now But Sewn Between”
Art by Sarah Menard, 20
The paper is my chapel.
The pencil is my priest.
I shrive my heart of all its losses,
And breathe a humble silence deep.
I sign away my troubles all,
Exclamations from within.
Portions of a truer me
Locked inside this precious chapel be.
Of love and hate, both mind and soul.
Of silent sadness and dreams long stole.
Yet these rhymes are all still pink and warm.
These thoughts exist in pages worn.
These tears and laughs and wrinkles may
Disclose some truth a later day.
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