Paint, sing, listen

"Paint, paint!" cried the boy silently from the room,
Eagerly dancing about his seat, waiting for reply.
Yet still was he, motionless without descent,
As he pondered the next move of a fine artist,
For well did he know that
There was but one composer in the gallery
In a picture full of paintings
In a room full of words 
and silence
Ready to burst forth into life and deed,
Ready to leave behind the so adequately familiar, 
and the so comfortably lifeless.

"Sing, sing!" thought the boy aloud from the church
Tirelessly resounding at his pew, praying for company.
Yet silent was he, hushed without sound
As he prayed the angel to herald just one look,
For well did he hymn that
There was but one voice in the chapel
In a stream of beauty
In an ocean of servants
and love,
Softly begging the Lord for forgiveness,
Swiftly bending the knee of repentance 
For what I cannot now hold
and what I cannot now leave.

"Listen, listen!" exclaimed the eyes of hope 
Curiously skipping about my own, looking for...
Yet tired were they, restless without a home
As I stop for a moment to think of their lull
For well do I see that
There is but one gaze in this world
In galaxies of stars
In boundless heaven
and hope
That could stir so deeply a heart,
That could leave me taken aback
Into the great unknown
and the silence of my being.