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The Artist MAG
The Artist
I find him,
Buried alive in a chest of silence.
My presence eludes him.
He sits,
Tranquil,
Enveloped in an icy cold.
Entering into his realm,
I am immediately consumed by flames.
His hand weeps,
And I gratefully swallow its tears.
Out of Tragedy -
Beauty.
I mistake his pain for genius.
by M. C., Old Saybrook, CT
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