The Artist

In the land he saw a mountain
Bland as desert fields
And atop he saw a fountain
with the brush he came to yield

Above the sands and dunes
Where angels sang in tune
Sunlight was vacant
the land was dressed in moon
He painted glimmers in the sky
As bright as golden thrones
Casting shadows on the stones

The night was gilded shade
The fountain poured in waves
Filling darkness in the caves
The land was dressed in moon

From where the angels sang in tune
And desert flowers bloomed
A woman dressed in grey
Wove tapestries on looms
She beamed with golden skin
And lacked all forms of sin
Her countenance from a world
In which man had never been

Her eyes glowed of glaciers
Blue against midnights reign
the artist watched her weave
His brushstrokes filled with pain
His canvass forever stained
His life never the same

The fountain spilled colors
With a cadence to cascade
He was an artist with a memory
Brought to life now on this day

From the mountain, to the loom
From the desert dressed in moon
To the canvass where the artist
Painted strokes with colored broom
An angel dressed in grey
With eyes enough to say
That the gilded stars still shine
Still to this day.

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

This takes a whirlwind pace with the imagery invoked in your lines from one setting into another setting... within each stanza...