The world is my canvas and I am its brush. I create the perfect picture and the world is good and I, the painter, am happy. But as time moves on darkness desends with memories and feelings of hatred, scorn, unhappiness, and hopelessness. It falls in a torrent of destruction upon thy painting and it starts to drip. The paint becomes smeared and my image is ruined. I fall to the ground in self pity, feeling the darkness closing in. . .but the sky clears and is renewed. I see my canvas is clear and that I may paint once more. Dark days will come again, but I shall always begin anew.