poiēma

Darkness, the canvas of creation.

The honest shadow of the broken.

In the constraints of limitation, we learn to own our frailties, discovering the depths of darkness—a darkness that binds, defines and limits all.

This is the canvas we present, the only one we have.

Offered in fragile hope of the Master's care and tenderness.

Unrushed Master, slowly, patiently allowing time's settled layers to dry.

Dry reflected surfaces shimmer with sparks, light particles flickering like static reactions of the Divine.

Holy energy.

Light.

Light that lives.

Life that radiates, spreads, and flows like water—a gentle, warbling stream of visceral energy, imputed confidence reaching out towards the infinite maturity.

Out of the broken, moving towards beauty.

Broken for the sake of beauty.

The beauty found in the broken.

Only descernable by the true Collector.

Beauty that can whisper in fluent empathy.

Authenticated existence, validated, treasured.

The witnessed fruits of healing powers abundantly grafted from within.

The grace product of powerful desire.

Desire birthed only out of eternal love.