Painted Canvass Poem by Elbert Matt Loubser

A canvass was given to me
one that has already felt the touch
from coarse bristles not of my hand that held it
it was meant to be untouched ere I could touch it
and my eyes saw not a white vastness;
more pure than snow
no, they saw the creation from a stranger
one of whom I should not know

And at first I felt sick to the core
who would change my painting to be
to pleasure their own dreams
...selfish little dreams
who would, with any heart, guide my hand
with their will
who would make me scream their thoughts
or when I amn't bended, make me still

But I gave in...
for what could I parry that was not,
for me, known as a threat
...this welcomed threat
to will their will upon me
a painted canvass they gave me
one that I had needed, had yearned for
I was blinded by what could be

And now I live by this
this canvass given to me
and I study the painting each and every day
to make sure that I am within another's will
this painting; black, cold, life amiss
and I in the middle, chained by the neck
what has become of me that I accept this

What has become of us that we accept this