I dip the bristles in black and sweep them across the canvas
Cannot let a star of hope peek through
Orange paint strokes create the sunset of my life
With dark blue, I begin the night.
The little trees aren’t happy and they don’t have a friend.
Why should the trees be less lonely than I?
Brown sits unused, no paths will be painted.
The only path is behind me; it ends here.
Then with one final stroke, I delete the painting with white.
No representation of my life will ever have all the details.
So I try to draw a human face, the face of a friend,
And suddenly the canvas reflects my own face.
Because the only true friend I have is the One inside of me.
He is the true artist who will show me what my life will be.
Now I watch him dip the bristles into the paint,
And I begin to weep.
His painting of me displays his own majesty;
And I am loved.
This is one of my favorite poems that I've written so far. Thanks for reading!