The Painting and The Man

May 2, 2012

By: Magnolia

It hung there,  storing up perspective through condensed and frivolous verbiage from the common and glamorous tongues of the paralyzed hearted onlookers.

Not expecting or projecting need of definement, its colors bled through kissing the light, stagnantly with purpose hoping for excited yet mindful discovery.

Until one day it found it.

Upon first meeting, two unsuspecting hazel pupils met the color of her lips mounted upon canvas in the shape of two doves whose love was permanently brushed into eternal bliss.

With unbridled glee he was reborn through the eyes of her. The unexpected discovery of him through splashed yet planned oil, bled from the canvas on to his heart.

When suddenly the rush of blood, the untimely palpitations, and the unconquerable state of euphoria foreign to his coding,  left him exposed and defenseless to his virtuous self.

Whereupon self-discovery ensued, fear spawned and cowardice prevailed.   And in a fashion of willing self-destruction, he pricked upon his hope.

A clouded black beheld the hazel and he leaked of saddened red in the two ridges inside his head.

In a still room this empty frame once thrived, a canvas whose strokes of unwavering pulchritude rose above the rest.

Until at last,  a pupil whose courage surpassed its fear of ascension into the undefined rapture of self- discovery, finally,  passed the test.

And still the red craven room still stands stained with bloodied brown, blue and green hands.

Filled with apathy and no remorse from the numbed that lacked the courage to come forth.





2 Responses to “The Painting and The Man”

  1. Charels Lewis said

    beautiful writing

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