Covering faint blues and grays
And the slightest pinks. Light, careening toward the hills
Colors, crashing into one another like Picasso
His buckets of purple hues
Mixing with yellow and magenta romance.God of the stars
The twinkling Heavenly lights
Casting hope against the dark canvas
Of my Southern soul.The earth a celestial Mason jar
And we, the finite fireflies
Flickering against the firmament
Fully aware that one day the oxygen will run out.Grateful that the One who caught us also created us
Trusting that He Who collects tears and tremblings
Will set us free from our flitting
Held by the same steady hands Who began the good work.
God of Autumn days
The wind and all its whispering
Like the Comforter, washing away
The rusting colors and confusion which collects over lies and lifetimes.
The leaves, dancing against the not-so-firm foundation
Which will one day pass away
Their rustling, a humble worship
Less glorious than the sunset or stars, but worship all the same.