The Canvas

May 18, 2008
Over time,
I have created this life of mine
And journeyed through the world
Almost like a painter,
Creating his vision
And journeying through his imagination.
But I am no artist.
No longer can I sit and paint
And feel content.
God took my canvas
And washed away the colors
Let the paint run down its surface
And form pools around my feet
Soaking me in the remnants
Of my destroyed masterpiece.
The brushes are broken
Snapped and frayed
No longer able to trace the lines
And fill the spaces of my soul.
I watch the colors drain away
Watch my canvas return to white
An empty lifeless effigy
A reflection of what I’ve become.
I strain to find the inspiration.
I fight to relive the feeling
That once evoked creativity.
But I try in vain.
I can only sit and stare and waste away
Here, before my canvas.

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