This time he pulls a black canvas
And stretches it as far as the eye
Can see…
He then splashes a misty dark substance –
Adding depth to the plane surface
On which his art is emerging…
With a wave of his invisible hand,
Tiny shiny white dots appear –
Bringing life to the dull pitch blackness
He lays aside his paintbrush –
Waiting for tomorrow …
…and men go to bed
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1 comment:
Isn’t it funny how a man can go through life....and be blessed to live long and never, ever pause to notice God paint night?
Yet on everyday of that man's life God painted.
Or is it that our priorities differ?
Or one is really busy? Can one be that busy?
"It’s a simple thing really, and no one should take notice. Who takes notice of that which is everyday?" Common wonders.
I do.
"The Artist continues", pause and take a look…...
“This time”.
What robs us the time or awareness to see beauty all around us?
I love the poem, and the picture it sketched in my mind.
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