Canvas

A pure white canvas, many envied it. No such thing as dirt was imprinted. Dirt that was carried by time and its drastic waves of torture. I felt it in my palms the smoothness of its surface; roughness in a way but never enough for a scratch.

I studied this pure white canvas, its easel slowly breaking somewhat signaling me that I’m almost out of time. My world spun like it never did as I studied the canvas in front of me. Wide eyes while inspiration flowed through my fingers. I grabbed the paint brush sitting next to me. Clarity struck my mind and ideas sprung. Eagerness to please, hands not failing.

Now it was drawn on, painted on, colored, and unrecognizable because of the stain of sin. The canvas was full, I lost my breath.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s