The Portrait...

I write in a poetry place called, "The Poetry Sanctuary." It's a fun place to go and read many different kinds of prose, poetry, songs and short stories. I've posted about ten or so there and we all have fun commenting on each others work.

Occasionally I come across one that I think is exceptional. This one, "The Portrait," is one I enjoyed enough to post here on my blog. I don't think the Author, jongardner, will mind. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

The Portrait...

The Master Painter stands before
The empty canvas of my heart.
His gaze falls on the sheet so white.
With careful strokes His painting starts.

He paints a scene in darkest hues;
A world that sin has full embraced.
A hopeless world in disarray,
And in that scene, I see my face.

He paints a man upon a cross,
And adds a careful stroke of red
Upon the hands and feet and side;
The brush dipped in the blood He shed.

And with each painful stroke He makes,
Another tear falls from His face.
Oh how my heart in sorrow breaks
To know He’s dying in my place.

Unto the cross I now draw near.
In grief I reach out to this Man.
My eyes meet His as crimson falls,
A single drop upon my hand.

Beneath the cross, He paints a path
From which my feet must never stray.
It makes its way unto a hill
Where stands a city bright as day.

Upon my face reflects that light
As I look through the gates of pearl.
The Painter’s path has led me to
A brand new Heav’n, a brand new world.

He paints salvation on my face.
The Painter’s work draws to an end.
And with my portrait now complete,
He takes His brush and starts again.

Later...