The canvas awaiting the artist’s brush
Which seems to tarry without a rush
What anguish waiting to be born
A bland field of white so forlorn
It is clouds that veil the sullen heart
The early morning darkness not far apart
I wonder why there is empty reign
Not hurt, not sad, just apathy’s pain
So cry I must out into the dark
To bring life upon that which is stark
And answers come in predawn mist
Patient forbearance presence enlist
And as I obstinately covet my vanity
In silent prayer, to God I plea.
Answers come from a loving hand
Self pity evaporates as sunrise planned
I beg for that time when my senses awaken
With eclipsing light and new life unshaken.
(c) 2014 Rick Stassi