An Inanimate Alchemist: Poetry

A marionette with severed strings,
She moves on her own accord:
delicate fingers pressing pieces
of her broken limbs back together

Every scrap having been discarded, 
she'd sifted for pieces in the trash
to emerge with small bits from a life
lived without a will of her own

In the dusky gloom,
the shadows catch the porcelain face
hovering in concentration
over glue and fire and steel:

An inanimate alchemist
transmuting every crack and break
into a work of Art 
consisting of malleable gold. 

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