Savannah

Artwork: #18 of 128 by Johnny Johnston

Tags: spiritual paintings, urban paintings, woman paintings, contemporary paintings, abstract paintings, spiritual canvas prints, urban canvas prints, woman canvas prints, contemporary canvas prints, abstract canvas prints

Title:

Savannah

Artist:

Johnny Johnston

Medium:

Painting - Acrylic On Canvas

This original painting is currently for sale.   At the present time, originals are not offered for sale through the FineArtAmerica secure checkout system.   Please contact the artist directly to inquire about purchasing this original.

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Description:

LAST DANCE
New Orleans.
Hot and wet.
Warm sulphur filled breezes from some distant small town paper mill,
Blew through,
Cracked slats in time,
Long past life’s faded worn gray shutters.

It was our last night,
The last place life mattered to me, anyway.
It was Savannah's time.

And she had slayed another dragon’s heart,
Confident,
That nothing would breach the dark chasms cast between broken souls,
Where hearts crushed in silence,
Simply surrender to the inevitable.

One hers,
The other mine,
It was our last dance……….

Mysterious, enchanting and lonely her past thrown upon ancient seas,
Where vapors stale,
Rise upon winds existing, no longer.

It’s was Savannah’s time,
My final memory sealed for eternity,
Her soft sun bronzed skin which smelled of confederate jasmine, young in summer,
Permeated the aired sounds spilled upon this night in the Old Square.

Outside the massive arched window,
Overlooking this decadent city of sadness, love, sounds and sorrows,
A single leaf twisted,
Whipped in the breeze of the pre-dawn light,
Soon lost to a summers past glow.

Long weathered grey shutters,
Sealed for centuries,
Towered beside and adorned this ancient southern monument to a glorious past,
Rattling,
As trade winds blew in gusts through the narrow breezeway,
Sweeping last moments,
Quickly,
Down the allies and lonely streets of time now surrendered.

Tavern hags,
Whose muted shouts echo in the near distance,
Stumble down ancient stone allies,
Their voices in laughter muffled,
Seeking home,
In an evening, now lost.

Then turning,
As I sat upon the massive four post Victorian bed watching as she dressed,
Her white cotton shift tightly draped, clinging, caressing her body in the humid tropical air,
She stood,
Transfixed and motionless in front of the floor to ceiling mirror which was leaning against the charred rose colored fireplace,
The new dawn lightly glowing through the transom illuminating her hair, radiant in its softened light.
For a moment she paused, searching in absence of thought as an actor might, having momentarily misplaced a staged point during a performance,
Still,
She stood so very still.
Then turning toward the looking glass, Savannah peered at my image painted in mirrored reflection.
Her eyes sultry in the broken light,
Appearing as polished stones of light grey and lapis blue,
Searing my soul in a thousand years of sorrow.
A smile now faded,
Her stare fixed,
She seemed to pray that new memories had never existed,
And that they would vanish in the dew of the summer’s pre-dawn light.
Then turning to stand before me,
She rose silently,
Wishing she could be, once again.

It was time,
Ethereal dreams fading,
Hearts crushed in the weight of silence,
It was Savannah’s time,
Centuries long past,
She had travel these halls of another age,
Again and again,
In visions taken to whispered winds and points unknown.

It was our last kiss,
Our last night,
Our last dance.

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