The Painting

Layer upon layer
Through the years
A life is built
Upon the canvas
A base is laid
Blank, without guilt
Stoke by stroke

Colors are added
Form and textures are born
Reworked for years
Till we become
A self we adorned
We may forget
As we remain

Still but a canvas
Never changing
At our ground
Even in sadness
In time we return
As colours fade
Beyond the madness

Stoic Poetry

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