The Color Red
written by: Shelly Wilson
@ShellyWilsonDQK
A magnificent painter once known
For a hue of red he bestowed
No other could mimic its array
its beauty or vibrant shade.
But Christ looked upon him each day
Knowing the exact recipe made
For the ingredients were stirred in the grave
From wounds of death and deep pain.
For stains were left and had marred
This soul and creative heart
And the magnificent canvas was turned
With strokes of loss and hurt.
Yet never the color so deep
Would have risen if wounds didn’t seep
And the gloss would be dull and dry
If not mixed with the tears of life.
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