Some of it in black.

Most of it is stunning,
with statuesque trees and
brilliant calligraphy,
wildflowers,
and a peaceful melody.

That’s where I linger.

Oh I’ve tried to scrub the drab corridors,
to paint over misspellings,
and horrible intents.

But what’s the point?
They tell my tale
It’s all of me.

So I carry it lightly,
visiting occasionally,
to feel the contrast.

And look out over the blank canvas,
still aching to be adorned.

That’s where trust lives.

[on acceptance]