Sketches.

Aren’t we all just sketches;
Drawn from the Master’s hand.

Life charts its course across the
Lines that make us whole

Leaving us distorted and confused,
Battered and bruised.

Then, we pray to erase the pain away
And be drawn after in a new day.

Aren’t we all just sketches;
On parchment, drawn to imperfection
Desperately seeking beauty.

(C) Copyright 2013 Malcolm Jarell