The cold night made the tiny hairs on my neck stand up,
like a soldier in attention.
As I stood likewise, shivering from the nipping cold,
watching the man on the moon gaze beyond,
the dark cruel world on which I stood, eyes closed, wishing I were that man,
gazing abroad as he had done for so many years,
guessing his purpose, never aging.
And the teenage painting, the dark earth, withers away,
fading into eternal blackness.
Morphing into the cold blood of a murderer, the mind of an adulterer,
and enclosed within the vile hands of a greedy thief.
The man lights the world's darkness
with the stars as his eyes, giving the good some hope,
pulling them away from damnation,
uplifting the hard pressures of life,
of their weary mortal backs.
Then, as he too becomes tired, he steps aside for his brother,
the sun, to take his place in a now brighter sky.
The darkness is replaced by a colorful painting,
of a carefully created world.
I close my eyes again and picture the artist,
a bright figure, fire in his eyes,
light brighter than the sweltering rays of the ancient son.
In his hands are holes from which blood flows,
towards a crowd waiting for him at the gates pf a city,
where it is bright from his light.
A place made entirely of gold, surrounded by a crystal sea,
shimmering with the reflection of the man's painting.
I open my eyes and am shivering no more,
the delicate hair on my neck is at ease,
bathed in light I find myself no longer in darkness.
Feeling it's warmth, I turned and behold,
the light walked towards me.
It was a figure I know and have known for sometime.
The light enveloped me in the warmth of His embrace,
and then I knew that all this time,
the garish sun, the man on the moon and dancing stars,
were all Him, this light, this artist.
In that moment I had found my purpose,
in the arms of my Savior,
It was Him all along.