When you are born, you originate as a white canvas.
You match the ethereal images of Heaven's light
And Mother Nature's mellifluous clouds. Souls cherish your purity,
Ready to infect you.

As days pass, the white diminishes;
The clouds dissipate. A rainbow begins to enter the sky.
Colors begin to stroke your bleached canvas. With wisps of red,
Specks of yellow, and traces of blue, your canvas begins to look
Distinct from all of Earth and Heaven.

As the sun moves, knowledge etches onto your image.
You take control of the rainbow, and now are wise enough
To paint your own picture. The colors you choose develop
Who you are today.

Yet, through mistake, one's canvas cannot be erased.
The shades you blend never disappear. You may try to tone
Over the gaffes, forget the outlines, or mask a new appearance;
Yet, your canvas, your nascent, will never fade away.

With every second, blink of the eye,
And breath we take, we are living in it. It builds us;
It molds our figure into something distinct and recognizable.
Our canvas is what we are,
And what we are is defined by our past.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem