I've pondered the self-portrait I’m creating,
More Monet than Picasso,
Countless points of poetic color that
When viewed from a distance
Form a reasonable rendering of me.
No manger in this Mary’s destiny,
No shepherds waiting sore afraid in the fields.
The tidings heard in my life
Are seldom ones of joy and peace.
I’ve walked the path of sorrows.
I’ve fallen prey to the relentless talons of fear.
Unfortunately, a heart given in haste often attracts both.
I live by own decree,
Ignoring the wise counsel of others,
The glimmer in my eyes more imp than angel.
Self-restraint and prudence rarely appear
In my ever-changing color palette.
This self-portrait is far from complete,
And, in the end, I hope I was proven worthy
Of adding my signature to the canvas.