The holy man looks to the stars,
tells time by the weight of the sky
on his shoulders.
He says that the end is new seed,
each day brings us closer
to a field in bloom.
As a sceptic I ask for more proof.
He calls me desert crushed by the sun,
a selfish cloud holding back rain.
Published in Open Arts Forum on .
"I want my art and writing to have humility, to be clear and void of deception. I want my audience to see without distraction, to feel I have not wasted their time with pomposity. I want to create bold, clean images and write simple, declarative sentences that cause people to confront their humanity." --Dale Patterson, July 18 1949 - Oct 19 2025.
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