Growing pains

 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.