Clouds of Color

Our poverty is so profound
we look around and can't find 
anything we've made.

But every flash of brilliance
left a trace, until traces became
great heaps and clouds of color.

We built romantic fortresses
against those who did not believe.

And here we are again, disputing
the role of creator and whether
such an individual ever existed.

Talk to me about important stuff.
We've come too far to deny who we are. 

All we need now is a viewpoint 
that spreads outward to the horizons,
clearing obstacles, painting the day.