Patterns Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Stars forming patterns in the blackened sky, shining
brightly so all can see their artwork hanging overhead.
Looking up as Michaelanglo must have done in the Sistine Chapel, wondering if he was good enough, even though the
proof that he was, stood right above him.
Laughter fills nighttime air and stars are scattered everywhere.
Their patterns always standing out on easels of black -
sky-high - showing us all levels of what we can become,
if we but try.