Wasting away…
Ten years lost to illness.
The moments
between us
are filled with such stillness…
Cherished,
Exchanged,
Sharing our stories…
With chapters
in common
and frank allegories…
He gives it to me
and I’m touched
without touching…
He whispers to me
and I’m flushed
without blushing…
He leaves me
with passion
transcended to form…
The canvas
is thunder;
his heart is the storm.
The sea of emotion
by these colors rendered;
the work of a man
who never surrendered,
The man in the painting
who’s insides are bruised…
Is haunted by faces
that used and abused.
Some of the faces
are drugs that he’s taken…
Others are ghosts
that still leave him shaken…
Some are illusions,
Others invented,
Some are the sins that he’s never repented.
Others are faces
of boys he’s not dated…
He thought that he had
but they really translated
into nights meaning nothing
except what he’s losing…
For riches imagined
and instrument moving…
The face is the horror
of waiting untasted…
The face is my mirror…
The face of time wasted.
Written By Jason Wright
August 14, 2011
For: Johnny Vaughn, who’s artwork inspired it.
Johnny V passed away a little over 6 years after I wrote this. He was a caring friend when I deeply needed one. He and I had shared history but his adventures had been with people who were only ever on my periphery and I cherished each and every story that he gifted me with. He was also a brilliant painter and gave me the work that inspired this poem, though I also put in as many references to his tales that only he might recognize. I’m gratified that he read this and had such a positive reaction.
Rest in Peace brother.