Crimson Lines

The crimson lines, they would appear,
Like tally marks on a painting of anguish and fear.
Every day, another crimson line drawn across a beautiful canvas of tan
Ruining a masterpiece, a work of art
A work of perfection
The artist worked hard to get His satisfaction,
But yet, everyday, another line would appear,
Marring His masterpiece, adding in a small portion of anguish and fear.
Oh, why was this happening to His beautiful portrait divine?
Oh, why would someone do this to it?
The person apologized to the artist time after time.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know what to say, I just want you to hurry up and throw this away. I see that you don’t feel the same way, so I won’t do it again.” She said in dismay.
Although she meant it, time after time,
After a couple of days, her promise seemed worth less than a dime.
Another crime, another crimson line, marring His portrait of beauty divine.
How could this happen?
How could it be?
I hate doing this to His portrait, I hate doing this… to me.
Finally, after really rough time, she found help,
A friend to get her through this horrible time.
“I’m sorry”, she apologized to the artist one last time.
“I won’t let this happen again,” she said with a sorrowful sigh.
“I hate seeing your masterpiece covered in my added lines.”
This time she meant it, she honestly did,
This time she trusted her artist. She allowed Him to do as He pleased.
The crimson lines, she let slowly fade, but to her dismay,
A part of them stayed.
Although light in color, and hard to define,
They still added a portion of sorrow to His work of beauty divine.