By Adora Istrate

A note.

Chased by another.

Harmonies drift to my ear, I’m craning my neck to hear more.

I close my eyes.

Color washes across my vision.

Each streak, each picture, for each note, each chord.

They dance together.


My mind is an empty canvas.

Waiting, waiting, waiting—

for the next stroke,

a bow, a finger, a paintbrush…

The Master Artist guides His hand along all

creases and curves, with short and long strokes,

as the day’s sonnet begins.

In perfect rhythm, notes and paint circle each other—

Red, Yellow.

They meet in the center and join hands.

C, G, C.

Blue, Green, Purple.

Slowly it begins to fade.

Colors pat my shoulder, knowing I am sad that it will end.

Black drips over everything.

I fall to the ground;

Its arms reach up to ease me down.

I wait for the morning,

when the Artist will add on to His work of art.

adora-istrateAdora Istrate is a fourteen-year-old missionary kid who lives in Romania. She has been reading and writing for as long as she can remember and can be classified in the mysterious group known as the “bookworms.” She loves writing poems on the spur of the moment, and reading and writing fantasy and historical fiction. Her other hobbies include: playing sports, spending time with family, and engaging in artistic activities. She has no idea what she might want to be when she grows up, but she aspires to do whatever it is for God’s glory.