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My body,

My value is not in what I am
but what I hold,
in the cary hall of bones
silent to all but myself-
the heart's strings strumming
the hymn of inner being,
soul holds the baton-
the lungs
expand and contract
as an accordion
with the rhythm
of soothing breath,
the throat's flute, toots
the blissful low hum,
The mind's fingers
with a touch of quiet harmony
on the keyboard of self
fine tune life's melody,
without mob ovation.

Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus