Modelling Poem by Faeo de Lyre

Who is from the modelling in every man?
No man not, but in individual, in
The show, like the faces; and thus wont to fan.

Man is a form in another mould. To breathe
The planet, of varied pulls. Each and in his
Best; portrays a giving of the hands in breed

Upon men. His figure embody the breathing
Characters; thus, the live colours, in each,
For an epitome alive, breathe it well. But being

The machine as thus alone, we are the world
Of lives that we breathe, thus, breathe him thus far.
Breathe your best and in machine. In this blood,

Have your curve, arise, intil the clear and my note,
Just. Men are models stood upon by their roles apart;
Assigned intil single figure, form and coat.

Let a man thus free and in model. Ask him
Not else, visited or transported; but let
Each hood but celebrity thus in the beam,

For every man is. Ever asked your model? Low and
Simple to a shade of own. Like gestural
Broadcasters, we model roles intil moulds and hand.

This model is life and the hue human and habit.
Mould this hand on man. Life is modelling, good
It or bad! Every liver is a model. This bit

Is an art of life. The craft and fine art
Of the Demi-urge. This artist moulds intil this
Model, instrument of charactery at that.