Breathtaking Brushstrokes

Of all the random, chance meetings over the years with men, boys, men who were boys and boys who thought they were men, this canvass that is my soul searching to share love, continues as a collaborative art endeavor. Some have added single, strident brushstrokes. Some strokes were structurally sustained over time. Some have passed so sensuously silent that their brush barely seemed to leave any tangible contact. Then I blink, or step back; maybe tilt my head a slightly different angle and glimpse how indelible that brush becomes in the collective combination of chaotic creativity. Varied perspectives shine and shade to provide different punctuations to this art piece. It has become a mosaic mural. Mine. I see bright smiles; haphazard, splattered gushes of pain; a labyrinth of langour, laudable lessons from lies; lunar landscapes where leaps of faith leveled the daily daunting mediocrity. As this art strives to become a masterpiece, I see so much love searching for sovereignty over sadistic silliness. I see a boy who has become a man...and the man whose soul will always cherish the boy who longs to love.