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How Great Thou Art
As a lonely cloud, when I in awesome wonder...
The greatest artists are dead, it seems.
We see their work in Mausoleums and museums, and we love them.
We consider all the works their hands have made...
It is easy to attach love to the dead,
they are no threat, and can't spring surprises.
We can collect them, like favourite flavours of ice-cream,
without affiliation or social risk.
I see the stars...
Even dead dictators who painted,
can have their paintings appreciated,
irrespective of their political legacy,
or alledged-carpet-chewing antics (you know who you are).
I hear the rolling thunder...
Most artworks result from personal skills,
developed for solitary reasons without apparent social value,
and are regarded suspiciously,
for the world values utility.
Thy power throughout the universe displayed...
The living can hide their wealth, their love, their genius, their knowledge, their connections, their personal skills developed for solitary reasons.
The dead reveal everything.
We compete with the living.
We have defeated the dead.
And yet, we can be touched by those
who create small things that reflect our souls.
This conveyance of information is the energy of life.
Then sings my soul, how great thou art.
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