Brushed by Color

Larissa Dean

Prose Version of ¨Brushed by Color¨

From dust comes man and to dust man shall return.  This Biblical quote shows that man is essentially meaningless; man has a short life due to his own decay.  It is impossible to think that dust is magnificent.  (Impossibility)

Man can rule earth when alive, but man will ultimately fall into sin.   The skin of man will rot and become microscopic, useless, and bothersome dust.  When dust is seen in light, it dances in the wind.  Dust rises up into the sky where it is closer to the light. Dust forms magnificent clouds in the air to unite with the sun to design divine sunrises and sunsets, which is a more beautiful of a connection than any on earth. (Resolution of Impossibility)  

This paradox is not only a literal paradox, but also a metaphorical paradox to the relationship between man and God.  Dust, or humanity, is frail and that allows the dust to be pushed around and lifted up by the wind.  Ultimately, when the sin of man is illuminated in the light of God, it shows a frailty amidst immense splendor.  Man is lifted away from the egotistic earth, so the more isolated and beautiful that contrast is.  Feeble clouds of mortality that are loved by the light of God produce a magnificent phenomenon. (Meaning)

 

Brushed by Color

 

Humans shall recoil once again to dirt;

From purity and love man will divert.

Humanity will dissipate as the earth is rubbed raw;

The reign of men is fleeting as they gnaw

And scrape the retrospection of the living.

Hankering for worth but somber sin leaves them dying.

How innumerable they are but how inutile it becomes;

Trapped in limbo that none can overcome.

We are unimportant.

The pinnacle of man is not even a sigh of the firmament.

If all of man’s feats were laid on a pedestal,

That pin would only be called pitiful.

 

Yet in its gravel, dust is divine.

New light awakens the soot from its slumber,

Hoists it up when it has been encumbered.

Dancing when it has been lumbered upon.

Forgiven when it was ostracized.

So weak, that a breath twirls it into the sky.

Off the ground, dust billows into clouds,

Paled in comparison to the orb proud,

Hovering below that oasis of blue.

Dust is renewed but not turned anew.

Still above land but under empyrean,

Still so low and always morphing on.

 

But when the tip of the Sun caresses the horizon,

The source of life awakens the tiresome.

On the skyline, the air is kissed with warmth

More richly vivid as it hangs o’r the earth.

Dust brushed with watercolors that enthral;

The shade of promise, the stroke of revival.

Life on earth turns into black silhouettes

Merely framing this art of introspect.

Clouds focus and sharpen beams that exalt;

Streaking through silver linings and their faults.

The friction of eternal light and demise

Ignites the sky that mortals are blinded by

But can’t look away from the array of beauty.

So fragile and fleeting yet so fervent,

The remains of life will outshine all that lives on earth.

 

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