Van Gogh Syndrome Poem by James Faughner
Van Gogh Syndrome
Lights
All Nagging
with Hazy Halo
My Dive; Smoke Filled
I Sweat; Sleepless,
Sickness,
Forever Maddened
Yielding Only
Empty Warehouses,
Dirty Sheets &
Burlap Babies
And still
I Fall Short Of His Beauty,
Lack in his Miracle- Talent,
And Bleed Quickly,
of Anything Close to his Mind
Spread Across The Landscape- Canvas
as the Ravens & Crows,
In all their Blackness
Fly off.
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4/30/2024 3:53:46 AM # 1.0.0.1119
