Painting Life
This life that we’re in; is our clean slate;
an empty canvas; upon which we paint;
the path we walk; both narrow and straight;
a realm of freedom; and self-restraint.
All the ground, we see, beneath our feet;
illusions of our thoughts above;
where consciousness and destiny meet;
all of it, created by love.
Although we think that we’re in control;
God’s angels, draw near, and await;
for they’re the protectors of our soul;
while the devil sent demons of hate.
We are the actors on the stage called life;
our consciousness; given the script;
the Master proclaimed: “Let there be light!”
our lifetime was womb to crypt.
We fingerpainted, all our days as a child;
switching to a brush; shortly after;
all early paintings were reckless and wild;
bringing forth raucous laughter.
When older; we painted our own life story;
our true character; disguised within;
pride stepped in; and we claimed all glory;
our pride was the ultimate sin.
Our new life; became our clean slate;
our empty canvas; bearing new paint;
for those who believe; it is never too late;
where the prodigal becomes a saint.
Monty 11/23/24. # 2,463