To have a craft, is an Art,
Skilled in creating and tearing apart.
It's a "still life", but an "abstract",
It's a musical and a dramatic act.
It's threads of truths tangled in lies,
Patterns of virtues, an abstracted vice.
It's a sonnet, reciting words,
A classical or lonely cords.
It takes effort and it takes time,
To create a world made out of thin lines.
To know where it all goes to, but never say,
You're embroidering yourself into their DNA!
It's a craft and it's a skill,
To do what you do, and do it so well.
Creating a world that think they matter,
It's not an Alice, it's a Mad Hatter.
It's a well crafted skill! It is magic,
To brew perfection that is logic.
It's an art, proficient are the masters,
Brewing the truths and lie about spell-casters.
Weaving webs of lies and the pattern is "Truth"
Must have been a "creative" back in youth.
Swaying with steps so calculated,
Simple enough to be elaborated.
It's still life, it an art,
With calculations and a pie chart.
Creatively thought, and well made,
Taking pieces of truths in the lies they say.
We are art, it is us now and always,
In the main lobby or the hallways.
We are art, you and I.
We're embroidered, don't even try!