A Blank Canvas

In the darkness, I arose, I was born, a blank canvas.

From a mother's love, a sibling pact, my first tears of sadness.

Untraditional, unwavering, unrelenting, unapologetic.

Experiences, influences, lessons, all mixed quite melodic.

He paints my canvas with conviction, determination.

Molding each stroke, fusing it to design His creation.

Using dark colors to construct the foundation.

Manipulating bright colors to bring fruition.

His work has been completed, He has finished,

He hands the brush over, I fearfully clinched it.

For He has granted me the gift of free will,

the rest of the canvas is my responsibility to fill.

With my choices, my reactions, the love I give the world,

may I continue to fill it with delight of all that I've learned.

The good, the bad, the pretty, and ugly,

molding the canvas to me undoubtedly.

Splatters, lines, loops, twists,

every fear adds a wavering mist.

The canvas full of colors, my heart invaded with strife.

But with His blood, he continues to give me eternal life.