The Universe is his Palet,
The galaxies and their nebulas
His mixing board.
His canvas stretches beyond the borders of the mind,
This fabric we call Space-Time.
His brush-strokes and blending
Portray so flawless, seamless, effortless a picture,
At times do we fear there is no Painter?
His mural is so vast, broad and deep,
Details illuminate details,
At times do we feel buried in the layers?
And the scene is universal,
Bridging before the beginning and after the end,
Do we feel o'erstepped in it's eternal stride?

We are not.
We are not.
The colors he lay for us,
We take up and live.
And always, His red enlivens our brushes.