Empty Frames

The frames are everywhere,
carefully constructed,
each corner just so,
and hung on the walls,
a wonderful display,
pictures of your heart,
so tired,
so empty,
so ready to fill,

open
to God the artist,
the great creator,
trusting his brush,
to make day
of your night.

About this poem

Sometimes, too often perhaps, we feel empty. And that is the time for meditation and prayer. Not to try and be, but to let yourself be filled.

At least that is how it works for me.

The picture is from an installation at the National Galleries of Art in DC. 430 blacked out frames. by Allan McCullom.. It sounds like one of those jokes about abstract art (and as an abstract artist myself, I’ve heard most of them), but I have to tell you, it was strangely compelling.

Tom