Canvas

I leave my house with a canvas more thrilled than I ever will be
And come back with a blank
And brush strokes crumpled to oblivion
But other times with kaleidoscope hands

As if a sculpture handcrafted by the littlest fingers
And a sketchbook, a firework of stories
Of people
And places
And histories
And mysteries
And wishes

But there are times
Such rare times
When the canvas is I
And my skin is bursting
With colors I never knew existed
And with dreams once lost
Now lived

I leave my house with a canvas
A canvas of my own
For I am art
And art is I

Reviews

[....................]

wow, beautiful...this is how i see all human beings - works of art...some are full of vibrant colours while others are dark, but each one more unique than the next... this is beautiful poetry...

[Anne Verona]

One word:

BEAUTIFUL.

This is art. And you, are truly art :) When reading this I could feel all these things combined with the general sense of hope and wonder. Wonderfully done Valerie :)

[Valerie]

You are art, Anne! Thank you so much! :)

[Anne Verona]

Thank you Valerie :) And no problem :)