Art Is Alive
P Patti Masterman
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Curious thing, how life imitates art,
For life is alive, with heart beating it's name
And art has no heartbeat, yet breathes through our breath;
Sees with our eyes, and feels with our breast.
Art haunts the corridors, where brain has it's day,
Lurks behind thoughts; the words we would say.
We may have few years here, before we are dust
But art is alive, and it's living in us.
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