The sky had clouded over and the sun 
had taken a back seat to dreary skies,
lulled to sleep by the distant rumblings
of thunder, beat on tympani drums.

A painter mixed his brush in oils
and spread great ever-darkening swirls
of greys and blues and purple hues
across the clouded sky above.

It seemed like night had hunkered in,
despite the numbers on the clock,
and eerily it wrapped its arms around
the unsuspecting few who watched in awe.

And then — the clouds began to crack;
great crevasses appeared, and split the sky
in many pieces, shattering the numbing quiet,
ripping, piece by piece, the fragile air.

And the heavens cried, 
the tears poured out upon the earth, 
washing away the darkness 
like paint dripping down a glass.

Until at last, order was restored;
the sun returned to dry the sands,
the drums and paints were put away,
a new sky spread itself before our eyes. 


 sept 2003