with starry eyes and a tender gaze i entered this plane –
my mission was to be;
to be with the things made of the angels hands.
there was beauty all around;
light and form in interplay, dancing, shaping, incarnating.
the intrinsic value and perfection revelating.
the colours did appear, gaze changed into vision clear
– oh what joy, all these many variations, speaking in affirmations.
the green, that makes so fresh and new.
besides the red, with beauty, strength, so certain and true.
here a shadow, there a glimmer,
at times in motion, at times nearly still.
endless possibilities, creative will.
“now then”, they say and put me right.
me just as worthy as the things that i own,
me just seeing the things as useful or useless,
things, me, everything – just means to an end
the colours vanished, the joy went too,
the world in black and white and grey,
i can’t see no more what’s true.
in quiet i sat, for ages and years.
until one day a whisper reaches my ears,
softly the colour again appears.
the call to marvel,
low and behold,
light, form, glimmer and tone,
back in their rightful place,
the angels grace.