Paint The Sky

Paint The Sky

With fingers trembling, I reach.
With colors dripping, I swipe.
The wet globs grow and diffuse.

Blue is the color of your eyes
a tranquil sea of oblivion
in which I drown again.

Gray clouds heavy with tears.
Chilling the tips of my fingers
which have become the brush.

Eyes close against the sun,
a golden ember burning in death
across the painted sky.

At last the canvas is filled
my fingers now empty
patches of color staining my skin.

Alone, I gaze upon the canvas,
paint all spread in thick detail
I stand before you- the very sky.

A poem created especially for:

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