Gods canvas, By Yvette Carbajal

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    Gods canvas, By Yvette Carbajal

     Our world is a work of art created by the hands of god. The fiery golden sun shines straight through the fog. The crimson skies splattered with blues and grays. The mountains in the spotlight on bright days.

    He paints every detail down to granules of sand. He sketches the lines that appear on your hands, even the sweat dripping from your glands.

    We are sculptors of clay not one of us the same. We all exist in god’s art room no reason to be ashamed. Oh what a great artist we already know his name.

    Each and every star is added to the jet black skies dancing along the moonlight path were ever they may fly.

    This creation can’t be purchased nor viewed in any museum just look out your window and there you will see it.

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    walkb99 commented on Gods canvas, By Yvette Carbajal

    07-25-2012

    It is a glorious tapestry of our senses, the things we see in life that we take for granted. All creations require appreciation, awareness, . To celebrate all the wonders of our existence internally and externally
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    everafter commented on Gods canvas, By Yvette Carbajal

    08-13-2009

    a poem that is alive and meaningful, the more that i read your poetry amazes me. you truly have a gift and i am glad to see you use it
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    silvahdollah commented on Gods canvas, By Yvette Carbajal

    08-11-2009

    This is beautiful. I really like da style of dis poem.
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    Wallysaruman commented on Gods canvas, By Yvette Carbajal

    07-30-2009

    True words. Beautiful image! The beauties of this universe can only be perceived by God himself... maybe, after we pass, we might see the whole picture.
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    ole commented on Gods canvas, By Yvette Carbajal

    07-30-2009

    Cool poem. I appreciate that you see the wonder and magnificance of God's creation. I often wonder how such beauty and complexity can be possible. The Almighty is really amazing and mysterious. Thank you for responding so quickly to my first posting. Let me know what you think of "I Gave Her My Heart". Cheers, Micheal (Ole)
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    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    yvettelove’s Poems (12)

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