The Power of Color
by Rev. Peter T. Atkinson
Inspired by the art of Gabrielle Jackson
Shadowed hands, reaching out,
Rooted in the ground, blocking
And framing the circle of light,
Stretch their fingers heavenward.
Shadowed wings, heading out
Detached from Earth, blocking,
Not quite centered in the light,
Fly, ever free, towards heaven.
Do those fingers reach to grab
The light or those wings? Do they
Seek their own transcendence
Or wish to simply impede others?
Despite the beauty of the night,
And the majestic swirl of light,
I can’t but doubt the character
Of the trees, leafless in the dark.
Nor can I the birds, having taken
Of twig and shelter, seek to slip,
Silently, gently, softly, but still
They slip without thanks, away.
Why ‘s my eye so distract of stars,
Shining ever beyond? They steal
From us distinction, but somehow,
We still cannot dare to stare direct.
How ruled my mind is by color, for if
This image were bright, day not night,
Spring not Fall, much difference there
I’d see, but then, where’d be the stars?