Sculptor of the Snowflakes

To the Sculptor of the Snowflakes

And your creative energy

Felling frozen fragments of water

To rejuvenate me

Looking up into the morning sky

With no stars in sight to admire

I am left with these soft fluffy bits of ice

Wondering what they might inspire

No proof that they are anything

But gathered molecules of mist

Yet something in the way they come

Is the hope for which I've wished

The hope that there is more

Than just a randomness to life

That purpose and design

Might explain the day and night

I'm just an unconvinced skeptic

That wants more than happenstance

I want the very breath inside of me

To be more than cosmic chance

I may breathe my final breath one day

And still rest in the unknown

Yet I can go out with a smile on my face

Because of the hope you sculpted in the snow

© Ruby Neumann

Poet's note:

Painter of the Stars; Sculptor of the Snow… I think I am looking for a new label for the One I was raised to call "God".  Maybe  "God" isn't enough to define what I experience in my world now.  Maybe, the names I need to embrace are not the ones I have inherited from countless religious traditions, but from how the Divine is being revealed to me.  

And what can so threatening about that?   

What other revelations or "uncoverings" will I experience in my next visit to my hot tub?  

The Painter of the Stars

Do I

Need I

Must I

Matter

To the Painter of the Stars

It was an early windy morning

The Dark yet holding back the Light

I wonder as my eyes wander

Over the Beauty of the Night

Do I matter to the Painter of the Stars

Or am I just another breath

Do I have something more than hope

In this life before my death

Need I matter to the Painter of the Stars

Or can I breathe alone

Is who I was, who I am okay to be

Just skin and blood and bone

Must I matter to the Painter of the Stars

Must I know this for real

Does my ignorance have a place 

When the story is so surreal

It is an early windy evening

The Light yet holding back the Dark

My imagination wanders

As I wait for the night to embark

Confused, I stare at the clouds in the dusk

And nothing in me knows

All around me are ones that also breathe

So everything in me hopes

That I 

Do I

Need I

Must I 

Matter

To the Painter of the Stars

© Ruby Neumann

Poet's Note:  Written January 20, 2021

When I am sitting in my hot tub looking up at those minuscule dots in the darkness, I can only imagine them as splashes of white and cream paint on a black canvas.  I don't know how big they are, I don't know how far away they are.  That would require that I believe in something and someone and I am not ready to commit to any conclusions in that department right now.  So I will credit the artwork to  "The Painter of the Stars".  I have no face on that "Painter", I don't really need one.  But I am narrowing down my selection of names for the creator of the cosmos, and I like this one very much.  "The Painter"  says so much about the character of the one who is responsible for the artistry of life: for nature, for me and my husband and for my cats.