Many a piece of perfection cometh his way...
A whisper, they’ve heard them say..
Of a magician’s healing touch, his hand.
Fixing all their bleeding heart.
He would fill their soul, their pain to end..
But they’d leave him soon, their unpaid friend...
Enters a new face- ill-sketched,
Opens a new entrance that he own etched,
Unaware of the previous secret guest,
Believing he was the master’s personal best..
The master sets to work, to mould him too to perfection..
The routine, the same. To redefine in him his life’s direction.
And the sun it sets,exhausted
of his job..
To rise again, a promise to a new soul.
Those dying rays falls on his ties of affection...
“one day....” he whispers reflecting on his unmended reflection..
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