Light Snow

This is in Mixed Media because it's been worked on in Photoshop quite a bit after the initial Traditional work has been finished.

Quiet and stark, was the public park.
A place of silence, where lovers lark.
They met there, beneath the dull street lamp.
Unseen, by the cold and dying tramp.

She was distraught, as one might be,
She had loved him and had set him free.
‘Why can’t you stay? Why did you go?’
Sobbed a sad, and lonely Jane Doe.

‘My darling, I am dead - and you are too.’
Jane wouldn’t listen – it wasn’t true!
‘We’re remembered and loved, beyond the grave.’
‘By memory of others our souls are saved.’

John Doe was a man of limitations,
He couldn’t believe Janes lamentations.
But if he believed in anything - he believed in Jane.
Believed wholly in her, beyond his pain.

John looked up. - ‘Be it death or be it life,’
‘What matters is us - is you, my wife.’
For them it mattered not, wrong nor right,
They wanted to be, come what might.

And into his embrace her soul did fly,
The world around creaked in a silent sigh.
His arms grew firm around her form, so slight;
And all around the Snow was Light.

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It's been a while since I did any BAAWWWWW stuff, so I thought I'd try it again. (It's been a while since I done ANY stuff, but fuck you anyway! Noone asked you! Shoo!)

I had this little scenario in my head for some time, it was about these two characters, who are (or were) a couple, and have died, seperately. Their love was unrequited and never came to anything, and the lingering Embodiments of their lost love find each other beyond the grave. (Like ghosts, but more like the embodiments of the "memories" of ghosts.)

The girl has more hope than the boy, whom doesn't really feel that love after death holds any real importance or significance. His atheistic need for evidence in a situation which totally lacks the fact puts not only their love, but his own continued existence as some form of spirit, in jeopardy. After some philosophical shit-slinging, they convince each other that love survives death, and their spirits dare to touch each other. Their embrace interferes with the way of things, the rules and spiritual currents of the world, and shatters a street lamp high above their head, and the falling light motes are like snow - thus the title.

I was thinking that the dying tramp in the cold street behind them, could have been the boy just before he died or something, and the girl had died long ago in his life but had always been beside him, even in death.