My Write Hand's Worth

In centuries if someone should stumble onto my art
Will they be able to see into my heart?
What pictures will words draw?
What conversations will a sketch provoke?
Will the years of pain and absence dominate the scene?
Or will grace and forgiveness be my central theme?
Would I write so I’m remembered?
Or so a message is conveyed?
Is my creativity therapeutic?
Or simply to get paid?
Would hours be wasted, along with ink and trees?
Or would one poem bring a grown man to his knees?
Do I talk about Father more than I do the pain?
Or is the picture of sunlight intensified by the rain?
Would they even decipher the flow of my pen?
Would the half scribbled letters let anyone in?
Would my lack of form be the purists’ disdain?
Or do I fall in the list of the beautifully insane?
Will I die before it’s discovered; will I know my works fame?
Will the art be lifted up, whilst no writing remains?
Will God let me see how His gift is at work?
Or will I always question my write hands worth?