I am not a painter

I’ve heard Frida Kahlo paints flowers so

they will not die.

I am not a painter, but I wonder if

putting brush to canvas constitutes

a form of immortality, then.

I wonder if we are meant to know of it.

Preserving forever that which was made

to last a single season, does it count as

an act of war against God?

Can we truly comprehend that word?

Forever carries implications only seen

by the other side of the veil.

To try, still, to create temporal things

that belong beyond the temporal

with our imperfect knowledge of the notion

of forever,

is it not akin to hubris?

We are Creators, as far as we’ve been told.

Perhaps we should not have been told,

if all we’ve done with our presumed title

is attempt a retelling or reality through

postponing death. All because

we want so desperately to be like

that Great Maker so great he made makers.

I am not a painter.