The still, pale sheet of cloth
Wraps around a four-beamed frame.
It sits there, waiting for us,
calling our name.
It smells of fruitful potential,
it echoes what’s your soul.
And on that blank sheet of canvas,
Awaits the world at whole.
The hand of my mind raises,
With the tool of possibility in hand.
My mind already races,
And my eyes anxiously scan.
A shout of blue appears
And it arches into life
The sheet pulls in the color
As a lover to its wife.
Slowly, anxiously a picture
Transfers from my mind
And humbly I get smaller
As I find myself in line.
A King upon his throne,
With ten thousand all around
And I just there to witness
And soak up unheard sound.
I feel as though I’ve trespassed
Before the King of Light
When really I’ve only pretended
To comprehend His might.