Canvas

Hills Drive

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There’s serenity to being alone when you write,
Being guided by the inspirational light,
A muse to follow and pursue,
To find the words that describe what alludes.

 

This paper is my canvas,
These words are my paints,
A hyperbole manifesting,
Always the hardest of times,
Always the greatest of rewards.

 

What we paint lasts forever,
And for that we assume our words
change those around us,
The same way they change ourselves.

 

We believe they feel our thoughts,
Understand our message,
See the stroke we intended,
Without making a unique interpretation.

 

And yet again we find truth
that they see what they need,
Not what we wrote, not what we saw,
They understood what they want,
And there is one less lonely thought.

 

So, while the serenity comes when you are alone,
Don’t forget that paints can be seen in different tones,
And while a painful memory is your bleeding scar,
The light they use to read is coming from a different heart.

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Painted in the Canvas

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Just a thought!
Streaming through a sun swept field, Tethered ballerinas dancing in the wind
Waves of iridescent colors blow across a sea of refracted cotton candy.
Never a sweeter breeze, I could wisp it round a cone and taste it's allure.

As a choreographed ballet sways with balance and perfection, sunlight glistens

through silken shawls while a few lace ribbons float around with the wind.

Natures creations in full bloom, petals fluttering up a wind song as the breeze

whistles through bouquets of timeless beauty. Kneeling at the edge rows,

the wind rustles through my long silky hair; I become part of the symphony.

Immersed in this wondrous creation... I am forever, painted in the canvas.

 

by Barry Anderson

                                     

Author's Notes/Comments: 

#1Beauty in a field of flowers

 #2"You're always a part of the picture, sometimes needing a bigger one as you look back."

                                                   

 

                                                   

Life is a Canvas

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Just a thought!

Life is a Canvas of time...

Background emerges, awaiting pallets of color,
Images of a perceived existence coming into view.
Multiple shadows with lines of thought making life,
Repeating rows in stone,  developing a foundation to stand upon.
Stumbling through dark and light, we adjust, erasing failures.                                                                                                                Streaming of calm waters or rough seas, we choose direction,                                                                    

Painting out unwanted marks, hiding them in background.      

Building bridges to cross the tide, extending boundaries, 
Shading and  fine lines added, we have new focus ...
  It is brilliant'

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My life now is spent painting. Writing takes second fiddle and only if a thought seems worth the attempt to remember it'

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