The Painter

A painter of skies retires
Gracefully from his days of promise
To return to his easel
If not one day soon, then later
Up yonder in his subject

Thoughtful eyes contemplate color
As none have yet seen
Beyond the attainable scheme
Shades of brilliance
Yet not invented by human hands

His dreams are landscape
Horizons consuming the canvas in
A shows of their inability
To be contained
By those boundaries they create

A self-portrait is imminent
And foreshadowing the ending of art
It is too beautiful
For humans eyes to partake in
It colors the skies completely new

His oceans lie dormant
Waves that once crashed impatiently
Lay silent as his brush unmoving
And yearn for coming days
When their waters will churn again

A breathing forest is stifled
Denied the shades of
Rebirth and hope anew once found
Within their branches limber
And texture of paint

Lives captured on canvas
Fluid passion is tangible within
His subjects are at a loss
Their serenity shattered
And glorious conclusion put on hold

Crumbling fences embrace
A fallow farmhouse battered by sun
Boards bleached from childhood
Musty air breaching and
Replicating a scent from long ago

This painter of skies
Has been waiting for a rebirth of
Beauty in the grandest sense
And heaven opened onward
For a dreamer that dreams no longer





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