John 8: 1 -11 Reflective Poem

My canvas is the infinite space inside your mind.
My paint, the words from a pallet which is mine.

An eternal masterpiece, intangible with hands to be hung.
Carried, once painted, like that of the prodigal son.

Sit back, relax, and let me do my work
touching you in places where your deepest thoughts lurk.

He knelt and began to write in the dirt.
What do you read when acting with reason to hurt?

When He stood no one was left but you
His Grace offered to see you through.

In one brush stroke you are both accuser and accused
A revelation that leaves the ego confused.

Don't act too quickly... in the moment don't be brash,
For the next breath you take could be your last.