Canvas: Smudged Paint

Written on: Aug 2020

Revised on: January 2024

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In the tangled knots of my past's debris,

I was the canvas, marred by a stormy sea.

The messy ropes, a symbol of my strife,

But within those knots, I unearthed life.

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A coffee-colored brush in a can unclean,

A masterpiece in the rain, unseen.

Yet, from that tormenting dream, I awoke,

In a meadow of sense, a spirit bespoke.

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Breaking free from the twisted threads,

I stood in the meadow, where freedom spreads.

Starting anew, a blank canvas in hand,

A big black dot, my past's only brand.

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Facing the world with newfound grace,

A determination to alter life's pace.

Walking my path, seeing a new angle,

Yearning for change, my heart a tangle.

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Meeting beautiful souls, genuine and kind,

Not disguised as clowns, a truth I find.

On top of the Ferris wheel, carefree and high,

Hope blooming in the vast, open sky.

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Learning to plan with brush and pen,

Scraping off the unnecessary with the mixing knife's ken.

Splattering paint, being the artist in me,

Absorbing the world's artistic glee.

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These people, a foundation strong,

Each leaving a smudge, a mark along.

Expressive hues, like a vibrant blend,

A tapestry of life, a journey to mend.

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Yet, they fade, as seasons change,

Each departure, a shift, a rearrange.

But their smudges linger, like echoes of the past,

Blending with mine, a fusion unsurpassed.

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No longer staining the canvas in dread,

They smudged the stain that lay widespread.

A big black dot, they tempted to erase,

Yet, they added colors, a kaleidoscopic grace.

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In the exploration of my hues unknown,

I define my colors, uniquely my own.

No longer tethered to the canvas of old,

I am a masterpiece, a story yet untold.