The Master Artist

He sculpted, over a billion, living sculptures;
painted living landscapes, all over the world;
invented butterflys, elephants, and vultures;
such are masterpieces, the Artist unfurled.

He used for His canvas, the air we breathe;
mixed His oils in the river of life;
then created one, He allowed to bequeath;
and become the great Artist’s wife.

He created a kingdom on a canvas of thought;
and His Light cast its images below;
this was the illusion of that which He wrought;
a masterpiece; destined to grow.

He fashioned great mountains and sandy beaches;
and filled in the valleys with rivers and seas;
flung celestial bodies, well beyond man’s reaches;
a masterpiece, bringing all to their knees.

He planted a tree in the garden of thought;
universal knowledge, found in its leaves;
wisdom and life were energies it brought,
to everyone who believes.

This tree, a metaphor, the sepulchre of death;
held all seeds of the new life, within;
once, the old life, had breathed its last breath;
his garden of life, was reseeded, again.

The Artist walks daily in his forest of thought;
listening to created ones, speaking what’s said;
pondering the magnificence of all he wrought;
he hears them say, “The Great Artist is dead!”

Monty 12/19/21. # 876