Your Hand

Sunlight robed in Sunday best,

sky, the sea on canvas brushed,

leaves in rustling autumn vest

swayed to whispered wind-worn hush.

Branches opened fists of wood,

letting go of season past,

and I, who underneath it stood,

saw Your hand, and gripped it fast.

Advertisements

Put Me Back Together

Image courtesy of El Bueno, El Feo y El Malo

Created in Your image,

yet torn am I.

Fragile fragments, whisper-thin shadings

delineate my frame,

a dress-maker’s form

bereft of substance and style.

You alone know the hidden places

where the bits of me lie;

put me back together,

render Your fingerprint

in high relief on each segmented scrap.

When Your signature

sews me shut,

stops the gaps,

the Masterpiece of me

will glow with Your glory.

Put me back together,

make mine a heart undivided and whole,

that I might parade Your Power

from bill-board heights.

Adieu to Today

Spectator am I, a witness to view

The evening ritual – knitting of dew;

Painting of destinies, darkening dreams,

Death of the daylight, refraction of beams

Which bow to reflect the Creator’s delight;

Adieu to Today – I bid you good night.

Paintbrush

After You painted the sun in the sky,

Adding a rainbow and brilliant sunrise;

After You crafted the mountains and trees,

Sketching the lilies, the roses, the seas –

You left me a palette, with flowers for hues,

And gave me blank canvas and paintbrush to use…

Indian paintbrush grows wild here – it comes in many variations of pinks. ¬†This one is growing in the ditch near my yard – I don’t know its proper botanical name. ¬† It always reminds me that art is alive all around us in this gallery we call Earth…

Mimic

Your beauty, so exquisitely formed,

Is borrowed from a heavenly place;

Your colors, by a sunset warmed,

Are copies of unearthly space;

Your tender charm, your fragile bloom,

Reflect the glory found above;

For, woven on Creator’s loom,

You mimic Him, whose soul bleeds Love.

If You Chose

If you chose, you could dwell in midnight shade,

Covered in shadows, a shroud of despair;

The darkness would hide, your infirmities fade,

If you chose the safety of blackened lair.

But here in the sunshine, your beauty blooms,

Radiance spills from your vulnerable stance;

Reflecting Creator, created resumes,

Tripping the light fantastic in dance.

Galactical Garden

Clusters of stars in the garden I see,

Galactical micro infinity –

Orion’s gold belt, with velvety sheen,

The Bear and the Dipper, woven in green.

Phoenix and Pegasus lending their charm,

Andromeda, and Libra’s gold clasp on gold arm.

And in all their starry arrangement I find

Creator, Sustainer, Designer, designed.