Poetry

Night Artist

by

Carl Scharwath

Dusk awakens to the impossible palette of an artist’s colors
A perishing sun paints the sky in still wet altered hues
Crimson reds, fiery opaque orange bursts, entwined with gold
Through my glass window a small rectangular block of sky is framed

Frozen breathless, confined in a room the evening kaleidoscope unfolds
Grey cloud curtains open slowly across the artificial screen of wonder
Darkn ess with desolate, infinite beauty drives the sun from view
Feelings of guilt, for I have lived a sinful and ordinary life

The artist paints a crescent moon and a new illumination gives birth
Two cosmic planets lovingly anchored with threads of broken stars
One heavier than the other pulls the moon to a final resting place
The crescent unnatural and disproportionate smiles that all is forgiven

The brushstroke of God is complete