Tired of the Painted God

We must not portray you in king's robes,
you drifting mist that bought forth the morning.

Once again from the old paintboxes
we take the same gold for scepter and crown
that has disguised you through the ages.

Piously we produce our images of you
till they stand around you like a thousand walls.
And when our hearts would simply open,
our fervent hands hide you.

-Rilke




Laying down the paintbrushes today, and trying to find God in earthier places.
Where and how?
I'm still learning.

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