as i look at my canvas
that should tell a lovely story
i gaze upon the painted, cloudy sky
the birds effortless glide, and fly
the little black puppy
lazily sprawled on the grass
not a care, not a worry in the world
and i envy the simplicity
steadiness, rhyme, and rhythm
have given way to that
which makes no sense
and pieces never fit
i am brokenness
i am clay, shattered
i am artwork in the making
the Master Artist is building his craft
messy, unexplained, scattered
the black and white is all i see
but His past work, exquisite
and i too can believve
He is working all things good, in me
No comments:
Post a Comment