As I look upon the canvas on the wall,
The one that has a voice, a deep silent call.
My eyes are strained to capture every nuances,
But no, I can’t blink. It’ll cost me those chances.
Lash by lash, I found my eyes closed,
Afraid to reopen, will the light impose.
Not upon my life, but those around me,
My eyes have been unveiled, but what do I see?
This life is not mine, and neither this flesh,
It’ll soon rot, stink and even turn to ash.
I find myself incomplete, and yet made completely whole,
Knowing that people are friends and the world’s a foe.
The canvas is torn, but mended with stitches,
Each stitch so accurate, like melodious pitches.
The lens before my eyes now do not allow them to shut,
Touching the canvas, and going with my gut.
My fingers senses the texture of His plans,
But O God, what is it at the end?
Father, my heart cries out for a better vision,
Not the dream or goal, but my own perception.
I was blind, but now I see.
I was captured, but now I’m free.
I was in the dark, but now am the light,
But now I need Your grace to fight.
I was weak, but I am made strong,
I was proud, but You proved me wrong.
I know now that it’s not about me,
But it’s all about You, and who You’ve created me to be.
So upon that canvas that depicts my path,
May this seed that I am begin to rathe.