No boasting here

I stroke a brush
against canvas
layers of colour
dripping heart
for all to see

I drop words
into lines
on papers and screens
stripping soul
for all to read

I sense pressure
from my own fingers
drumming my back
“well done”
as if I could lay claim
to creative ability

I cannot boast, now
as I look
upon the sunrise
His glory
And I, even I,
The work of His hands

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands  Psalm 19:1 NIV

Another fortune from Psalm 19 - submitted to T. S. Poetry