18th Installment of my series (Erin)

With the Hands of Time

The beauty made by my hand
Has always been my choice
Each stroke reality being made
My pen the makeshift voice
Knowing that decisions made
Become an important part of my past
Creating a picture to tell my story
So that the pain inside doesn’t last
I've put the paintbrush down
To see the canvas along the way
The rejection felt by peer critics
Those memories to always stay
I've had second thoughts about my strokes
For my worries block my view
My brush is my essence and life
Without it I wouldn’t know what to do
Now I have the strength
To paint my life in perfect line
The sunsets and the moonsets
And horizon all my design
Being timid at firsthand
Doesn’t hinder the state of my mind
I just wave my brush to reassure
So that self peace is what I’ll find
To say my works been perfect
Would be such a stirring lie
I given thought to all of my work
To some of it I've said good-bye
My past is all washed out
And regardless of what I lack
I've painted eyes to look forward
And I am never looking back

Poetry by Coolaaron88
Read 971 times
Written on 2007-07-23 at 04:02

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Wonderfully written throughout and much enjoyed.

Lea Foverskov
these poems just seem to flow from your hand with a steadiness and wonderful rhymes as though you were born doing this. great work!


Rob Graber
"My pen the makeshift voice"--I like that.


An Out of Body Experience
by Coolaaron88