There's a mansion that I know
Where many people come and go
The owner invites visitors each day
Then entertains them, let them stay

The guests are happy, they feel good
There are many free clothes and foods
They celebrate a party each night
They eat and dance until the first light

Since all the guests are good people
They're not selfish nor ungrateful
They work for free, they clean each part
Love the place from the bottom of their hearts

But the owner turns into someone
Who doesn't understands who's a free man
He starts treating each guest like a child
There comes a time he acts so wild

The rumors spread to all the guests
They start to observe, make their quests
Each day one of them finds something
That makes him leave on the next morning

There's a mansion that I know
Where many people come and go
Each door has a secret to unfold
Will you come to that place to find a gold?

Sunrise and tide were getting brights,
He was heading somewhere,
She didn't even know as well,
Accidentally stopping on the shore,
Hoping she didn't mind, and more.
Tipsified by that kind of exhilaration,
Seeming steady to erase their philophobia,
They opened up their hearts full of passion.
Expecting to be forever on the same shell,
To live their shared dreams full of lights,
Letting the waves sing them where to go...

remember to let them know
that
talent
is not a luck

so when you
paint words
that are impossible to craft

or

sing a high note
with
so much passion
and confidence

let them know it is not by luck

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.

Please be careful
With your comments

When you comment on people's work!

Their work can be complex
And have meaning that
Only the author understands

This is a sacred place
For most all of the people
That post work here

Simply leaving a
"What's wrong with you" comment

Not the best idea

There is nothing wrong with me
I am one of the most kind and loving people

Who talks to my own gardener
And brings him fruit

There is nothing wrong with me
I am a good human being

If you meant it in a sympathetic way
I appreciate it
We all have bad days
And sometimes we write about
Negative feelings or emotions

Please be extra careful with your comments
We put everything into our writing!

Please be polite and leave an explanation
Of your critique
We must tread softly here

We have all sublime love
Hidden in its intimate memory.
We all have a lost passion,
A dream which did not return,
Souvenir for a whole life.
Each of us knows it,
The fate never returns.
There is not more than infinite love,
Which will never sink into oblivion.

We do our best,
Use varying syntax,
Rhythm, rhyme and meter.
Our words are picked
From the garden variety,
But the themes are from
The Prodigal Son.
Is there nothing new
Under the sun?
I'm writing the same poem
Over and over:
Variations on the same themes:
Love, Life, Death, Family,
Power, Wealth, Nature,
Fatted Calves, etc.

I could invent new words,
But the meaning would
Convey the same:
I widdle you.
Your soft sortesches condestort in mine.
It all sounds too familiar
In any language.
We need a new world
Where arms reach from our heads
To bypass the thoughts transferred
To our sortesches holding folences
That pen our work.