A Sketch

Hands summoning a sketch vague,

Shooting the stars in the day awake.

Lines do not make up a person,

They draw two opposites of space.

Through opaque canvasses of fate,

To domineering only one to get.

Keen on laying dead,

Ostentatious & rebuked said.

Truces of internal nuances,

Glamour of imprisonment it dances.

Bordered even though by gilt leash,

The entirety of 'You' cannot reach.

Exposition for being rather revealed,

But those of the shades deeper remain untouched.

So as, it thrives & yet not is completely sealed,

Lives & dies as it surfaces but never is revived.