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The trouble with being a god is that you've no one to pray to. --Terry Pratchett, Small Gods

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Colors

She is to me a
large,
White,
gessoed canvas
stretched tightly on a
wooden frame.
Heavy bands of Crimson,
Yellow and Gold,
applied with a wide
brush
create patterns
that lead my
eyes along her
curves.

Perhaps to her
I am a Black
sky
night,
dotted with
stars of hot
bright White
and Silver.
My smile a
silly grinning
Blue
crescent moon.
My love as infinite
and inexplicable
as the Universe.

Spinning in our
orbits,
in our seperate
galaxies;
where Art meets Life
meets Mystery;
she directs
my dance
with careless
strokes of camel
hair.
The colors
of my songs
become the
palette of her
life.

<< Previous Work >> Next Work


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