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 Aug 2014 Mooseman55
krissie
at times the sun is nice
but only when the moon emerges
do i reveal my true light
My fingers are growing tired of writing about you.
Reliving our past will not bring it back,
The mistakes aren't going to just disappear
And I refuse to fight for the good times when I know you wouldn't do the same.
I don't regret our laughs,
Our talks,
The first time our lips met.
I regret how fast I fell for you charm,
And how I believed every single word you spoke.
I will never make the mistake of falling,
again.
 Aug 2014 Mooseman55
John Stevens
The Canvas
(c)08-25-2012

A canvas sets on the edge of greatness and beauty, blank, waiting for the touch of the master’s hand. She takes charge of what is to be. Gentle strokes, broad strokes, strokes that caress the canvas… leaving the marks of imagination, transforming nothing into beauty. The image emerges revealing the thoughts and desires and power of the canvas. It is breath-taking to the beholder. She understands the difference between OK and great. Nothing will do but great. It must emulate the original. It must be the original! So it is with our canvas of life.

We start life as a blank canvas. Brush strokes are made by those around us as we begin to grow. Made by mom, dad, friend and strangers alike. All try to add their image to our canvas. An image of who they think we are. As we grow into the artist we strive to be, we accept or reject the strokes of others and create a portrait we strive to become.

Some strokes by others can leave an off color, covering who we really strive to be. A brush stroke that is not us can be covered by our touch, our color, our imagination of who we are, adding integrity to the texture and hue. Revealing an inner beauty as the artist of our life takes control, guiding our hand, adding the touches that transform the canvas from OK to great.

The Artist chooses the colors, the brushes from which she wants to define her life. The decisions are hers to make as she selects the shades of color, or even black and white, that will define her life. She paints a portrait of peace and joy, of self-less love for family and friends.. All else is unimportant. The things of past are covered. Today and tomorrow are forming a painting that will be great.

Letting the Master’s Hand guide our hand, we find freedom flowing freely onto and into our canvas. In doing His will in our life, we are set free. A freedom indescribable at times as we are lost to the distractions of the past. Caught up in the hope and love of today.

The Master guides our hand, willingly or even unwillingly at times in our artistic endeavor. As we learn to relax and give Him control of our hands, He reveals the beauty that is within us. It is great.

I have heard being an artist and painting described as being easy but living life as being difficult and unsure. Life can be described as a series of brush strokes, choices. Some can destroy the beauty intended for our canvas. Some strokes can create breath-taking beauty which radiates outward, inspiring the ones observing our portrait.

This was inspired by a young friend of mine, she left a few brush strokes on my life. They will not be painted over. They will be treasured, remembered for a long time to come.

When I look into a mirror, I want to see Jesus, the Creator of my portrait.
Amazing young lady.  Her paintings are truly works of art.
http://www.capturedmomentsartwork.com/
 Aug 2014 Mooseman55
Liv
If you're going to fall in love with me, please understand what I'm about to say. I'm falling apart. In the most literal sense and in a figure of speech. My health is diminishing and so is my happiness.
I never said I wouldn't love you back. I'd adore you. I'd never want to let you go. Just don't leave me, because I'm not sure I can take much more.
At five, A prisoner of his own home.
At fifteen, A prisoner of his own mind.
At seventeen, imprisoned. Because the world's not always kind.
Born to be a prisoner.

"how sinister.
you know they don't have feelings.
"
give them nothing extracurricular.

Then we'll put them in a rubber room,
when they start talking to their ceilings.

Tell them, they can not touch their visitor.
Tell them, this will teach them to be a better listener.

Forced, to give them free food so you make it taste like vinegar.
make them feel worthless because they're a Criminal
A Prisoner.

"You may not touch your Visitor"
You may not hold your baby sister"

We'll give you cable and free meals.
Just not at your family table.
No one cares how the young man feels.
He's a criminal.
A prisoner.

© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
I'm tired.
tired of being sad
tired, of the things we said,
we'd never do, but then we did.
tired of the f l a s h b a c k s, from when I was a kid.
And Jeez, I'm tired, of hearing "I'm Sorry"
especially in my own voice.
I'd live without apologies.
If it were my own choice.
I'm just tired,
tired of you.
tired of being used.
tired of bleeding out.
tired of being bruised.
Just tired.
of laughing without being amused.
tired of fake smiles.
tired of traveling sixty miles for a second of your time.
tired of all these floating words that rhyme.

Do you ever feel too tired for sleep, or so it seems?
I think, I'm just tired of seeing you in all my dreams.
 Aug 2014 Mooseman55
John Stevens
Went to the word market
looking for bargains.

found some:    cheap PAIN
                          cheap LOVE
                          HURTS galore.

In the fancy alluring boxes
Almost ****** me in.

Rack on rack:  Disobedience
                          Bad Choices
                          PLEASE NO MORE

All went in **** Bags

Box upon box of
A clean looking place
nothing fancy

I saw baskets full
Running over
                          Faith
                          Hope
                          Love.

­                          Redemption
                          Gr­ace
                          Mercy

ALL WERE FREE.

Some of the same words
used differently...
Love was fulfilling
Pain and Hurts were still there
but in the distant memory.

Redemption and Hope were
in strong demand this time of year.

There was "scent of Rose"
lingering in the air.
Memories of love
caressed my spirit.  

The place was not crowded
the people were the best.
Has been in draft for 3.5 years. Just kicked it out.
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