The Canvas of Life
At first,
it is pure,
white,
untouched.
A moment after birth,
the first brushstroke appears,
a thin fine line
that is the start
of the whole painting
of LIFE.
Brushstroke after brushstroke,
as the years go by.
Sometimes,
a stroke is too thick
or too dark,
or too long.
But strokes can be painted over
and fixed.
And when you lie,
or make a mistake,
just try,
and it will come to you
that if you do right,
it CAN be painted over.
But sometimes,
the paint is too heavy
or the brushstroke too strong
and the canvas becomes fLimSy.
And then it tears,
shreds into pieces
and then, it can’t be fixed
and the painting ends.
Sometimes,
the canvas is so heavy with paint,
so full of stories,
from over the decades,
that it is time for it to go.
The painting is perfect
And it’s over.
BUT;
Sometimes,
the canvas can be new
covered with even less than-
two decades of paint
and a SINGLE mistake,
so strong,
can tear it.
And bring an end.
It doesn’t have to be from your brush,
The one that you use to paint your life,
It can be from another
OR many others,
And when the pressure is too much
or the brush too violent,
it could cause a tear.
It may start small
repairable, even;
But as the tear grows
and growS, and groWS, and grOWS, and gROWS, and GROWS
into a gaping gash
in the once solid, pure canvas,
it can no longer hold the weight
and
ENDS.
