Everywhere I go

On everything I see

His fingerprints are there

In plain view to me

On every passing face

Of people I have met

Shaped by his hands

With care and intent

Each form shaped exactly

As he wanted it to be

Each thing a gleaming vision

Perfect as can be

Even with the marks

Of human hands to marr

All is washed away by him

As dirt is from a car

His fingerprints are everywhere

From the mountain to the bee

His left them on everything

there are even fingerprints on me


About The Lost Poet

I write because I find inspiration. It is my hope that through my writing some connections may be felt. Everything I write comes from my experiences with life, and with the people that I love. I try to remember to see myself in everyone, and everyone in myself.
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