At His mercy
Reanimated to climb again
Pushing out your hip, languid reaches or your arms, curving your spine to exude grace you expect to accompany knowing repetition.
Art maker you have no art
Your pile of creations reach deeply for the core of this world.
You destroy yourself for the motions
The feeling of barely surviving
Brings you warmth
But why must the flame come from burning you?
...
Why are you timber for your own blaze?