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The strands of time bleed down through the years and form what I have become. Looking back at the picture my life shows many ups and downs. Long strands of pain and pleasure weaving their portrait of me; who I am today, where I have gone, who I am becoming after all that has been said and done. Still I look back and see what it is I have always wanted and what it is that I have not found. I have been touched by love; yet love has never found a home. My picture is incomplete until the day I find the artist's heart that will match my own and it paints one last stroke to make my picture complete. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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