A massive canvas of black hung on the grey castle wall.

The room was free of light and the artist was unknown by all.

Oppressed the feelings of white, the bells of the village Church did ring.

The congregation deceased, every grave marked with a mighty tree with wings.

Dimly lit the Church, the archaeologists arrived.

In the center of this sanctuary, a living tree of Earth survived.

Windows carved in dark wood opened the Church into the sky.

The ceiling was a magnificent paned painting with black birds with fire in their eyes.

The baptismal font still flowed, the music of Mother’s sea.

In the hush of this village Church was a living tranquility.

Draped above an altar, black angels flew in a star filled night.

An organ billowed with symphonic music, but not a soul in sight.

World War III had left its mark upon all God’s holy lands.

This was an unknown island, that had never been inhabited by man.

Its longitude and latitude by civilizations were never charted.

This is the promise of the Island of the Pure Hearted.

The island was discovered in the year of our Lord, when the final war had ended, and death scored.

Earth in all its bounty had found its living end.

The seed of man was banked near the shore of this promised island, with beautiful black forests where Creation’s healing stars could begin.

The seed of man was placed at the root of this Church’s mighty living tree.

In time, the seeds blossomed, and feathered humans of black began to take wing.

A Book of Life was buried at the base of the Church tree.

Prophets have written that God planted what man had forgotten in their efforts to be free.

As the flock descended, the angels of black, they gathered what they sowed in large burlap sacks.

Into the sky, these magnificent angels of night delivered the sanctity of life, to every land covered in the suns of God’s light.

There in the silence of a world gone by, the destiny of Earth was planted by the descendants of the Tree of Life.

The planet of water washed the living seeds to every shore.

The black angels of mercy moved over the sepulchers of every man’s war.

Archaeologists kneeled in the awe of this holy place.

They did not come to dig or violate its grace.

They came to paint, to show the bigger view.

To let all future beings realize what the angels of black did do.

There in the branches of days gone by, sit the stars, and the sky and all hope will ever realize.

The black angels, (part man and part angel), lived to bear witness to our Earth.

In a castle, on a charted island, a black canvas hangs to remind us of our worth.

Careless the eyes that turn away from God.

Our Earth is a witness to the Tree of Life and its living sod.

God’s eye is on the sparrow, God’s eye is on the wings, God’s eye is on the destiny of all living things.

Black is not the absence of life, it is the color that gives every being light.

A massive canvas of black hung on the grey castle wall.

The room was free of light and the artist was unknown by all.

Kathy Paysen 2013