A blank canvas... it never was.
Some decreed, some chosen,
All tightly woven;
Blooming colors and withering flowers
Telling a story without a pause.
Blooming...or bleeding;
Seething or pruning;
Feeding or growing;
You decide... but,
A blank canvas... it never was.
Rusty, dusty, wispy, hazy
Not just the heart, but also the soul;
Doomed or blessed?
Not decreed yet, but for yours to set.
It's for you to tell, not be told
By the one who frets and fears
All that you and I behold.
