Canvas in the Rain

They pass by the artist on the street.
Some never pay attention.
Others look for a few seconds as they walk away.
Some mock him and his art.
Only a handful take the time to stop
And appreciate his art.
He is drawing
His masterpiece.

Look closely, and you’ll see,
In his eyes are the warmest tears,
The shivering of his hand while the brush
Strokes the canvas, very passionately.
Many still ridicule him nonetheless.
Yet he persists.
For this is his act of Love.

They will never understand.
Let them be. Let me be.
Leave me alone with my canvas.
My lover.
Let me be with him one last time.
Let me caress his image in my heart,
An image I try to replicate on the canvas.
Alas, it’s never the same.

In his eyes are the warmest tears,
The shivering of his hand while the brush
Strokes the canvas, very passionately.
It starts to rain.
Yet he persists. He never stops.
Their Love is immune to rain.
To all storms.

He knew he could never love someone else,
The way he loved him.
He gave him his entire heart,
He trusted him,
With his most valuable belonging.
A belonging which is God’s to begin with.

“Why must it be painful, Oh dear God?”
“Why is it that I love him so much, it hurts?”

They both spoke to God.
That’s what brought them together.
Their yearnings. Their seclusions. Their prayers.
And they melted in each other,
As the colors melt on this canvas.

Rain persists. Yet he never stops.
He wants his lover’s face to see the light.
And when he’s finally done,
The sun’s rays come down on the canvas,
Lighting it up,
Just like his lover’s face always lit up every room,
Lit up his heart, mind and soul.
He gave him everything.

“Why must it be painful, Oh dear God?”
“Why is it that I love him so much, it hurts?”

Some men came and pushed him aside,
Took his canvas and ripped it to pieces.
It started to rain again.
And you could not tell,
Which were tears from above,
And which were tears from within.

For some unfathomable reason,
Artists, like passionate lovers,
Are destined to be marginalized.
To be mocked and ridiculed.
To be haunted by those,
Who think they are appointed by God.

I ridicule you. For you know not,
What true love is.
Loving someone so deeply,
So passionately. So beautifully.
Knowing that it’s all you’ve been yearning for,
Your entire life.
Finding your soul mate. Your one true man.
But knowing, just like with every great love story,
You can’t be together.

His heart was aching,
As he lay there,
Drenched in rain.
Drenched in his tears.
In his sorrows.

They will never understand.
Let them be. Let me be.
Leave me alone with my canvas.
My lover.
Let me be with him one last time.
Let me caress his image in my heart,
An image I try to replicate on the canvas.
Alas, it’s never the same.

He only wanted to tell the world.
Yet the world wouldn’t be told.
Refused to be told.
He needed no canvas.
Not anymore.
He held him in his heart.
And he couldn’t care less…

“Why must it be painful, Oh dear God?”
“Why is it that I love him so much, it hurts?”

Image source
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