I look at the canvas that is my life
Unexplored landscapes linger half-painted in the corners
Timelines snake across like labyrinths
I cannot try to navigate them

I do not remember creating all these shapes
Surely their twisted forms are not a reflection
Of the angles I have cut from my own
I did not know they lingered still, refusing to disappear

These colors confuse and captivate me
Their gradients are outside my ability to create
I know, for in even my most accomplished combinations
Despite struggles for splendor, they stand gray

What divine hand guided this brush and its strokes?
If I could mirror only a fraction of its ability
No feeling would be left unexpressed
And I would live each day in wonder of the possibilities