Brush

Take hold once more, just this last trip. Warm me once, in farewell for all I was and wanted. Just this once, think more of me than that the canvas. Let me drink from the cup that I filled when I was new. Wet me in passion. Move me as I want to be moved by you. Drag from me what I have hidden only in selfish defiance, Once more, rape from me my gifts, to give your dreams purchase. Sink me deeper into the blood you buy. Give me sweat, sing me softly in whispered movements. Raise me from wood and hair, from pigment and form… Honor me for what I have given all too often, just this once. Pity me for only having worth in your hands. Love me just once more, I beg thee, soil me and revile me for giving you purpose, Honor me just this final time, with passionate hands I once worshipped… Just once more I beg you, to be defiled, tear me across the universe you worship. Let me see once again what has made me so weak with use. Descend this final time to carve from me a mocking stairwell that leads to your visions. Savage me with unconscious hands, mock my purpose with the wreckage left when the paint is dry, Whisper softly of my decay and forgotten mold and I will shudder weakly. I know that other tools will know the sweaty paradise that once defined me. Never again will you honor my blind devotion that your wicked alighted eyes have wrought upon frames, Made of dead trees and animal skin. You will never honor us, that would make you real and base. All who have bled their savaged sweetly-offered sap. All you have taken was once truly offered but must be bled to become, Art. -C.A.Wooding Written April 23rd, 2001 © on Nov 16 2001 04:50 AM PST   0 • 1