Cryptic Canvas

Here lies on the ground a sunset scene
Red hues smeared with the grass green
The sun was close to hugging its horizon deep
But instead hugged an invisible white

He was set to embrace the white hills
So he locked the knob and made the kill
To kill his past would mean future thrills
But instead thrusts him into present freight

He did, not set, but fell head first
First time the picture was rough, a curse
He reached in his pocket; his brushes dying of thirst
Dying fast. Water would be the one to heal

So he sought to God to give him paint
To give this lost world a brighter taint
But his pleas drowned to a sheer white faint
‘cause he feared his heart lacked the grace appeal

He reeled aimfully at an aimless white
Carefully, dauntingly sketching with might
But on a canvas he saw a ghastly sight:
Confusion—profusion of uneven red

Hands shaking, body breaking, he ran to the gallows
Wondering what kind of picture may follow
But he stood still, his head felt shallow
For he knew his brushes were stone-hard dead.

Sunrise, a last taste of mourning cry
He cried at his lucky stars up high
Wondering how, when, why—
—Does the monkey always sin?

Although he still heard whispers in the breeze
Hands pressed together yelling “PLEASE”
He missed the score and only heard debris—
—But there was just one shot to do him in.

The time has come for the sun to set
He tied his vows proudly around his neck
His brushes will never again be wet
With the colors of the will to breathe on.

He jumped one last time to kiss the sky
On his way down to the hills behind
With the warmth of black he wished to bind—
—but he only cracked his destined, white dawn.

Here lies art that will never be hung
A halfhearted canvas that will never be done
Colors drip slowly, sadly an endless fall

He was his own fake friend and genuine fiend
His soul was nothing but an unfinished deed
A cryptic canvas hangs on the wall…

Photo courtesy of http://thedailygrowl.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/fifty.jpg