Part 1
The Last Supper

I can feel myself becoming whole
the dots becoming connected
the once stretches becoming reality
I watch as my master's fingers work magic
the swirling of the pigmented paint
the blending of the colors on the canvas
soon I will be whole, soon I will have a purpose
The men around me all important in their own right
But one out stood them all in grace and dignity
the Master's main focus, the center of the painting
He was made first, the epiphany of righteousness
Soon the others, all fanning out from his side
lastly me, in the lonely corner farthest away
my torso, my head, hands and feet
I am now whole, as my brothers were before me
fitted with fine colored clothing
seated at a long clothed table brimmed with food
The Last Supper they would call us
One of our master's masterpieces finished
never to be forgotten