paintbrush poem tea towel

Paintbrush, by Dawna Morton The brush in my hand— paint slowly creating the picture… Will it be what I want in the end? My life, will it make, a beautiful picture— through the road that I take? Colours mix together: shades and hues of hopes and dreams... Do they add or detract from the theme? Feet pacing floor —having given my all— Temptation to crumple, to scream, throw my failures at the wall. Reflective, introspective: perspective. Stumble, learn, grow, submit. Needing guidance Divine, my faults I admit. Purport, import, and a refining effort, —lights and effects: fine tuning ever— Transform, renew. Start over... as the brush guides the colours: each choice that I make, each decision, each path that I take... Of infinite worth, this repeating process-- both guided--yet guiding-- this seemingly perpetual work in progress Importuning, with brush in my hand, pleading, to put my hand in His. Inviting --creating anew, a new symbiosis A joining, a becoming, as both Creator and creation— —a true work of art— a new, more celestial me… His continuous re-creation-- as this "brush" tries so hard to express, with feeling, love, and desire: the will serene ...of the Master Painter.