The Painting

I looked up once, and saw a painting.
An image of eternal beauty,
a canvas of blue and white
stretching across the horizons.
What is this spectacle?
I wonder as I gaze up in awe.
How has this masterpiece been hidden for so long?
Buried deep in the private collection
of the memories of generations past.
Painted at the dawn of time
for those living close to the ground,
to remind us to look up.
Painted by the one with silver hands,
and signed with letters that sing.
But over time we began to bend our necks,
looking down at the whim of our own creations,
shuffling around, lost among the crowd,
losing the desire to think for ourselves,
obeying the call of electricity
and metal in our hands.
We have forgotten about the canvas of blue,
and oils of white and yellow and red.
We painted over it with thick strokes,
structures of black and grey,
stabbing the heavens and vomiting filth.
Now the painting has become musty,
stored away in the attic of our minds,
lost in the chaos of the day.
We no longer look up;
we have forgotten to gaze up high, wondering.
This masterpiece of creation,
ignored by the newest generation.
But one day,
I looked up.
I pulled that painting out
from behind the clutter of my mind,
and I stared at the priceless picture.
I gazed into the infinite depth
and endless horizon.
Now I always look up,
treasuring this masterpiece,
determined to never again lose
the memory of our ancestors.

Thanks so much for reading!

Pic Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sky