Hour Four

Outlining plans
with graphite tracing
the intent-
gradients of charcoal
delineate from our
preconceived form
an insult to our potential.
Our attempts to take over
and mold over
the wire mesh construction-
half-hearted clay structure
unassuming
to the crack from the
heat of the kiln.
We observe the slanted strokes
of ink to pen
in abstract thought
and underlying meaning.
Oil streaks as the canvas weeps
fields of color upon it’s blank slate
a newborn creation yearning
to stretch it’s legs
and run like water
changing colors-
chameleon ideations
Making our reality
instead of our minds.
Terra verde and Payne’s grey lament-
coalescing hues
of personality, a prism
of sun-stricken fractals
whose reflection is diffused
upon the walls of self-
a color scheme of multi-chromatic
emotions undulating
with no adverse effect
to the masterpiece mirrored
in our choice of being-
to know without seeing…
Blindfolded painters are we
bequeathing the authority of art
to the greatest creator-
our free-will desire for control
of our imaginings,
a paltry scribble compared
to the artistic hands who has
a grander idea in mind
of our future-
a magnum opus that is life.
With authoritative strokes,
He fashions us instruction –
dual creators working in tandem
with destiny.
Our destination, a wisp of brush
a flick of pencil,
the stroke of pastel faith-
the writ of our stories
as we are the ink
With His hand on the pen.