The scribe

I've heard of this man.... if he still is such
he lives on top of the highest mountain
and they say he knows of all which has happened

i've consumed all my life trying to find him
and there he was
on top of a cold dead mountain
with a beard longer than my full height
a face coarser than the mountain where he lodged
and eyes which are closed for business

I approached him and shook him a bit to see if he were awake
he turned his head slowly and looked up to me and asked me to rest beside him

i asked him where his notes were
i was seeking the truth
i wanted to know what was really going on, and what has passed

he asked me to watch for the colors
What colors? i asked
he pointed towards the land
all i saw was greenery
and he extended his hands further and pointed further towards the east
and i saw it all

colors on top of colors
the new covers the old
painting on an old ragged canvas
telling the stories of the past
and laying the foundation for the days to come
no other picture is more beautiful
no other picture is as captivating
no other story is there to be told
the canvas has weakened
as the new cleansed out the old
and the colors became all so darker
and blocked away the sunlight
all we wait for now ..... is for the artist to sign