My Portrait Trained Instrument

A line of destiny written in red
Skin puckered and firm, it said:
"I remember the rawness of your throat
I felt it ache through every word you wrote.
I know the fear that sliced wet, angry streaks
Down and past your ruddy, shuddering cheeks.

"Had the phone otherwise rung
Would you be left gulping unstrung?
But that's a consideration not worth making
Because I mark you as a remainder of loving;
Cast through stitches and a benign cradle,
You may return to your wistful mantel.

"Let your ebony brown eyes slice past frost
Smile; bring another love crossed to accost.
Buoy every single day like a leaf in the rain.
Passion for life isn't that difficult to regain!
Let me be the inch and a half signature
That forces you to spiritedly unfetter."

Beyond that narrow span of scarred tissue
I felt a significant portion of me ensue:
A portrait is drawn of enigmatic design
A rare composition filled with sensitive line
I felt the brush of his nimble-fingered hand
Strung in rhythm and song of my homeland.