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The beauty of Your Creation
speaks of who You are—
The art, the abstract, the purpose,
The meaning woven into all.
You hold every piece in Your hands,
And call it Your Masterpiece.
The gallery boasts not of its own depth.
The visitors pass through, entranced,
Some have not known the Artist,
But the patterns, from one work to the next,
Reveal His hand, His heart, His soul.
The Artist steps forward,
Presenting each piece to the naked eye.
But no one can claim them,
For they are His, and His alone—
A testament to His touch, His design.
Every piece has a story to tell,
One by one,
Some admiring the other,
Some passing by to the next,
Yet all are part of the grand design,
Each radiating its own magnificent beauty.
The balance, the harmony—
The Artist knows every detail.
He lingered over each intricate line,
Every stroke, every shape, every hue,
And He knows the angles where beauty hides,
In places the eye alone cannot see.
No glance is wasted, no hand unskilled—
Every piece a revelation,
A whisper of the divine,
A glimpse into the eternal,
Crafted with purpose, crafted with love.
