The Artist

A warm breeze, it rolls across my shoulder
Something familiar comes to mind
I think of the far off world from where it comes
And wonder how much further till it dies

I’ve seen light in darkened spaces
I’ve felt love when it was far away
In the space I see before me
I see a window in the sky

I think I almost touched the sun
Beaming bright from the purest place I’ve found
Yes, I tried to touch the sun, tried so hard
But doesn’t everyone?

It calls down to the deepest port in my soul
I want to live inside its mystery
From the artist’s hands I take it
I draw it closer next to me

I want to drink from all the glory I have found
And see it framed for all the world to see
But I curse that fatal vanity
It isn’t mine, and it’s not me

I think I almost touched the sun
Beaming bright from the purest place I’ve found
Yes, I tried to touch the sun, tried so hard, so hard
But doesn’t everyone?

The more I see the more I know I’ve missed
These things aren’t mine to own
But somehow I still receive their gifts
From those purer hearts they come

I’ve been touched by the eyes of artists
I’ve felt naked in their gaze
As the love washed down upon my shoulders
I have crumbled in their grace

I think I almost touched the sun
Beaming bright from the purest place I’ve found
Yes, I tried to touch the sun, tried so hard, tried so hard
But hasn’t everyone?
Hasn’t anyone?

[Image: Devil’s Tower, Wyoming – Photo by Rick Parker]