I am a canvas stretched to frame
Cool and blank with anticipation
Stacked along with others as I wait for the artist
To notice me
Pick me
Before my top edge is covered with dust
And I am passed by
For a newer, cleaner canvas
But why?
My life is in the hands of the artist
He can make of me what he wills, I am compliant
I can show fire and ice
Or
The eyes of the universe
I am his tool
He breathes life into me
And we are one
If
He bothers to look
Past the dust
Towards our potential
Anita
April 01
I wobble when it comes to prose, but here and there I have given it a shot.
This exceptional book, Celebrating the Gift of Being Alive, has the perfect thoughts and words for birthdays, graduations, engagements, marriages, and any life celebration or family tradition.
Love Tinka
Jack
~Chrissie
So filled with such truth
& knowledge...
Trixie :)
Good to read you again.
unique abstract
thanks,
d.