My Craft.! Poem by Ruby Hamilton

The peace of the silence serene the cold laid deep within my touch.

Numb from tranquility, the squeeze loosen my trance.



Unaware of its possession, I gain state from a daze.

Days hynotic, I lose grasp of consciousness.



Floating on formations, the format mates.

Screen developed, play perform productions.



In a labor of mental times, the result thread together sisters.



A competition in compare, they compose in a form scripting to be the best.

Lines recalled, they place last best.



A born sign she will be no comparison.

Designing tones pressed in expession, stains leak of a better craft.!

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