It is with words that I paint.
The paper my canvas,
The pen my brush,
My heart laid bare as ink and parchment meet.
But how woefully inadequate that seems!
I have seldom been unable to express my thoughts,
To record the deep utterances of my soul.
How can a man write of love?
How can he comprehend its depths?
It is the very essence of God,
The sweet aroma of His Being,
Which delights our senses,
And dominates our thoughts.
Even should I have a lifetime of lifetimes,
A sky of parchment and a sea of ink,
Not even then could I begin to capture the mere breath of love,
Let alone its entirety.
And yet I try.
Pen in hand,
Ink to paper,
Vainly attempting to capture glimpses of this thread that weaves all of existence together –
Seen and unseen,
Known and unknown,
Past and present and future.