Surviving

Feeling the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. A glimpse into a blind billy goat's unique, ever changing perspectives.

2015 04 10 Poetry: Contrast April 11, 2015

Boy it’s good to see you in here once again, or was that someone that just looks like you? Hmm?

Either way, how the heck are ya anyway? Good I hope.

I have to apologize for an oversight, or for a non visual, or, well, you know what I mean. My last post had the date of 04 04 09 stamped onto it, but I think it was actually the 10th, so apparently I misplaced a day somehow. Has this ever happened to you? Did you come up with a clever excuse? Do you think I need one? Hmm?

All I can do to make up for it is to post 2 poems today. The following poem, which I will stamp as the 10th of April, and the next one, which I will stamp as the correct day, today, the 11th of April.

And then, there’s contrast. Different shades of different days blend into one another with simple, conceptional clarity that flows from each day to the next. I love the ebb and flow that our lives can present us with at times.

And then, there are those bunches of days, of moments, of points in our lives that have clear and distinct contrast that absolutely distinguishes each from the other. These are moments of character that help us become who we are and what we are all about. Each moment of our lives, be they smooth sailing, or a mesh of mixed up, muddled up, shook up colors that just don’t go with each other, we can not deny them, and if we do, we are only erasing the chance to make an opportunity of growth out of what may seem like a moment full of obstacles that we would rather do without.

Contrast is beautiful. Contrast is defining. Contrast is what foundations of strength, courage and hope are built with.

And now, on with todays first entry.

***

Contrast

Each day I slowly walk past the easel.
Each day, I swipe at it with my paint brush.
Each day, I add one more stroke to the emerging canvas.
The mood of the day fills the brush with original color.
The journey of the day guides my hand towards the painting.
The experience of the day carefully pinpoints the stroke.
How many paintings have I seen?
How many canvases have I colored?
How many stories have I told?
The contrast is my opinion.
The emotions are the palette.
The sequence is my life.
The painting is me.

.

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