Canvas of Flame

 "Canvas of Flame"

Between the brush's fiery glow,

And incense stick's hues aglow,

The young artist paints a canvas, his last 

Embodies his woes, his  dreams, vast.

Colors flow in tales untold,

Their breaths cut short, stories unfold.

He paints the wrathful gods above,

With sky-hued colors, fierce and strove.

The steps of revolution's dance,

With hopes, they twirl and enhance,

On the wings of love's sweet pain,

His heart aches, a relentless chain.

His anger sparks, a blazing might,

The brush and incense, aflame, unite,

Crafting patterns and shapes with care,

Painting pains in hues laid bare.

In his eyes, suffering reflects,

A young man lost in life's complex,

Amidst raindrops, he finds no ease,

Medicine's poison, a soul's disease.

He sculpts with breaths, labored, strained,

Loss in death's colors, life unchained.

In that moment, oh, so tough,

He lights his first cigarette, enough.

But he uses it for his art,

Portraying sorrows from the heart,

His illness and love's cruel division,

Accumulated in silent derision.

When she learned of his despair,

She left him to face life's snare,

Alone in those moments bitter,

His canvas of art, his story's quitter.

For the painting pulses with dreams and strife,

Colors create a new tale, a life,

And with the incense stick, aflame,

He paints with his last breath, a canvas of flame.

Maxwell O'Reilly