A Stroke on a Canvas

Mon, 07/20/2015 - 18:05 -- sopoku

By Sam Opok 

2:32 PM


You are not number. You are not measured by your probability  
success nor are you simply a percentage of the population.
The only numbers that define you are these; 100 trillion cells, 19 million of which is just skin, 640 muscles, 70 kilograms of water, 5.6 liters of blood, 206 bones, 78 organs and 7 times 10 to the 27th power of atoms, you are living, you are breathing, sweet child, do not let a number define you.
Smile because your smile, like the wrong move in Jenga, can bring anyone’s wall down.
Rememeber your childhood; those days spent strutting around in a scarlet superman cape. You claimed the playground as your metropolis, and at night time, before you fell asleep, wrapped yourself in the sun.
You choerographed epic battles using woodchips as bullets and firebombs,
and still left with just a bruise.
So then superman now that you are grown confront your kryptonite,
those jagged emerald shards of addiction, rejection and regret, with the superpowers of your youth; when you could freeze the damages made by a boo-boo with a Band-Aid and mama melted away the pain with a kiss, I pray, that you fly faster and farther than the world thinks possible.
Because even a broken heart is not an anchor, but rather it's a gust of wind in the right direction, making it the ship that needs repairs,
So tend to your wounds and mend your heart.
For even the heart of the great Mufasa, was slain by a simple Scar.
This is how small you are. 
The speed of light travels seven times around the earth in one second.
It takes it 12.9 billion years for it to touch farthest star known to man.
This is how big you are.
There are 7 quintillion 500 quadrillion grains of sand on the average beach.
This is your significance.
You hold the potential to forgive, as much as there are grains of sand on the beach
you carry the potential to love, as infinitely big as the distance between the Earth and the farthest star known to man.
How beautiful our would will be, when the brush strokes made by thought and action compliment the wide canvas that life has laid before us. How awesome it will be, when our colors crack, blend, and blur to cover uncertainty and difference.
A world where the ink spots left behind by our footsteps
are the etches of a masterpiece.


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 



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