His Canvas

A Poem by lostinthewaves

It's easy to find fault in oneself,
some flaw that determines worth,
and I can't say that I haven't fallen victim.

But something,
somewhere,
decided I needed to be.

You can call it chance,
some say dumb luck,
I'd say it's love beyond explanation.

I trace blue lines,
the branches of my heartbeat,
in awe of all I am and all that I am not.

I am not a divinity,
at least in the sense that one would think,
but you and I are miracles,
built by hand.

I was created by an artist,
every "imperfection" etched into my skin,
even the flush in my cheeks painted with care.

One day I will stand before Him,
The artist,
Embraced with compassion beyond what I deserve,
with nothing but his artwork to give,
grateful to have been His canvas.