You taunt me from your painting with those wintry, Delft-blue eyes;
Your look dares me to think you are as crazy as they say.
Defiant pride prevents your looking back or looking in.
You miss the incongruity the bandage canít conceal;
White gauze canít hide the tragic prison of your tortured soul.
The drama of your passion has enriched our modern world
In ways you never could have guessed or known or even dreamed.
Your robust sensitivity commands a deep respect
And only the most wealthy can afford to own your work.
Could you even start to grasp the gift you have been given?
Your sunflowers play a symphony of ochre, yellow, gold;
Indigo and sapphire swirl around your starry night.
I almost hear the cinnabar and crimson as they play
A counterpoint with countless shades of emerald, lime and jade.
Wild eddies of your brush strokes suggest a frantic haste,
Did you expect your flame of genius to be quenched too soon?
Did no one ever tell you of the One who could have healed,
Could cast out all the demons from your mind and from your soul?
Could you have comprehended that the One who gave the gift
Was also He who gave Himself to free you from your hell?
Perhaps you really knew Him; there are no guarantees.
A perfect life will only be the day He takes us home.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.