Art exhibit poem

Art exhibit poem - An abortion Wrinkled was page seventeen...

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CJ Michaud A sturdy replica sits atop a shelf, Inspiring recollections of years past. A bronzed depiction no bigger than a lunchbox, Yet large enough to fill the halls of the church, Large enough to move crowds of worshipers,  Large enough to fill up an empty soul. The black tattered binding bore witness To its experience, decade upon decade gone by. Countless nights spent beside the warmth Of candlelight, coarse fingers fumbling Through its contents, seeking, yearning For guidance. Missing was page forty-four, Torn in rage one frigid October night following
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Unformatted text preview: An abortion. Wrinkled was page seventeen, Wilted away from poignant drops of Salty tears following a grandfather’s passing. Discarded, banished to a used cardboard box, Locked away in the ominous corners Of a dusty attic. And there it would remain; Once the instrument of unequivocal love and devotion, Now a frayed collection of paper and ink. Still, despite its now meaningless, forgotten presence Its essence sits before me, a replica atop a shelf, And somehow I feel its story is not yet complete. And neither is mine....
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