Paintings In the Sky

Ever wonder Who paints the skies? Who bares his soul to the world On his pallet of crystal blue? Perhaps a warrior, Borne on wings of steel, Carves into the heavens tales Of war and death and glory Bold strokes of red and yellow Tales of greed and hate and pain Tales of valor and strength and might Perhaps a virgin, With hair of gold and wings of silk Painting stories of love and care and joy Against a soft dark blue Glistening with the magic in her soul Confined within a glass box Pushed further into darkness So that the radiance only just seeps through To light up our night sky Perhaps a God, Showing us simply that His world, Our world, is filled with love and hate Righteous and vile And after every moonless night Comes a radiant dawn To once again light the way And pour its radiance into the souls of the lost Or perhaps we each paint our own skies And see them through our own eyes Behind which gaze a warrior, a virgin, and a God.