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.

What makes the heart to wonder? I wonder...
Walking through the streets of life, my life walks before me.
Before me stretched out is my life about to unfold the old and the new, the screws and the bruises, the weakness and the speechlessness of where i am and why I decided to take certain paths.
My heart takes a journey of wonder through the streets of my life, like a train flowing through a terrain of green pastures and mountain vastness.
Where will the tracks end, maybe just around the bend or maybe no end?
So my heart keeps wondering, wondering and listening to the glistening of joys to come on a path to vast and wonderful pastures of healing and belonging.

It's said and done
You're long gone
But in my heart, my sunflowers still turn to you
But in my eyes, I see no one,
but you;
My only sunshine.

Now I'm only a foreigner in your past,
A surface leveled love that was always bound to never last.
A jealous stranger I've become,
Of another woman strolling through the roses and daffodils I planted;
The love I granted
When your shattered self enchanted,
My broken mind and my frozen heart.
Like unsure rays of sunshine,
You flickered through my heart,
The ice shards thawing out,
That was it!
My sunflowers were sprouting!

My heart was pulsating,
After the ever the cold had engulfed it for.
Dressed in heavy unsteady beats;
My heart was revived,
My heart was ready to thrive,
On the warmth your rays lay.
My wintered veins glistened in the crack of your sunlight,
But I was full of fright,
"Is this the day I've long awaited after the endless night?!"

Simultaneously overwhelmed,
My flowers were dancing in your sunshine.
My broken mind dazzled at the sight of the light slowing overtaking the darkness,
As the light caressed,
This withered carcass,
Buried within my not-so-cold being.
Happiness became a word with meaning...

I wished for us to never part,
For me to never see the dark.
But here I am wishing in the dark for light,
And my sunflowers have become blind.
They turn to you but there's no you,
Only the perplexing dark hue,
Of the same cold night.

Writing love poems to no one,
Is like making cookies for yourself,
Its still enjoyable
Even if you do it alone.

Age follows me,
like a puppy, all around;
I can't shake its shadow,
we just go round and round.

The days pass by much quicker,
the nights, they come too soon;
and in between, the hours fly,
with a crass mind of its own.

That's life; you cannot slow it down,
trying - it never seems to jell;
I'm running to a different clock,
some days, it's just as well.

With age, comes greater wisdom,
at least that's what they say;
my seriousness has faded,
but I had it-  back in the day.

So, I relish all the sunsets,
that time provides for me;
as I await the final one,
whenever that may be.

Pain in chest
Pounds and with
Each inhale
Stabs of lightening
Like I swallowed a taser

One glance skyward
And then I shift my position

Death might not be all that bad
Just the sharp pains leading up to it

If poetry sites
never existed , would we
even write poetry

If you only got
one like or one heart would you
still write poetry

If you were never
reposted shared or trended
Would you still write

------

None of those things
above matter ,writing should
be enjoyed by oneself

The seasons change
The dead leaves drop
It appears the same
But it's changed a lot
The cycle of nature
Or the circle of life
So much beauty
So much dies
a consistent motion
As our friendship once were
Now it's dead leaves
Left on the floor

As the sun was rising earlier today I looked at the sky and wondered why time flies by and where it goes and who might know...
Then i thought of my friends and wondered where time had gone and what was spent to get to now and realise yet that I don't get to choose what i want or want to loose, but I choose to say... right away that friends are meant to stay close by in our hearts always.