Paint Strokes

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!