Sunday, November 16, 2008

The Artist

Some wish life was like
a new box of crayons.
I don't mind
my favorite shades
are worn.

I've colored my life
with praying hands
folded for my father,
knowledge that an army
surrounds me.

Some see
broken crayons.
I see light through darkness,
a rainbow, the first
tulip of spring.

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