it's called

 

people are the pallet, 

earth the canvass.

the work of art,

it's never ending

of the ongoing.

reality is the effort in progress,

existence the endeavor, 

brushwork every breath taken.

the pain(t) dries in judgment.

the canvas is both spherical and ephemeral.

each glance, a need for alteration.

humans seem to be the only painters

that make assessment matter.

if there is beauty,

it's a mindstate in passing.

each person, also an artist

on assignment.

one lifetime work

is in the passing.

can't name it

until last stroke applied.

each person's last breath spoken

is then the short term title . . .