The brightest frame

The brightest frame

I found an empty picture frame
behind a dusty door,
its golden corners broken,
its glass upon the floor.

I lifted it towards me
and looked into the space,
expecting just the darkness
but there i saw my face.

not young and without sorrow,
not smooth or free from pain,
but someone who had fallen
then learned to rise again.

each line became a story,
each scar became a name,
each tear that once had shamed me
now glittered in the frame.

behind me stood my yesterdays,
all waiting in a row,
the ones who tried to stop me,
the ones who let me go.

I turned towards tomorrow
and sunlight filled the room,
the frame began to sparkle
like roses coming into bloom.

I thought i needed someone
to tell me i could shine,
but all the light i searched for
had always been inside.

no painting could be brighter,
no artist could explain,
the beauty of a woman
who lived through all her pain.