Vincent - Poem by Susan Casey
A sunflower nods.
It bows it's head and he grasps it tight
and shreds it.
Petal by petal, it falls to the ground at his feet
not quite right.
He looks at the mirror image on the canvas,
Tears of joy, tears of sadness.
Complete and yet...
missing, always something
not quite grasped.
A lifelong ambition,
A demanding madness,
Such a brittle gladness.
Stirring in an artists breast,
making him drag forth canvas after canvas.
Starry, starry night.
Applied in brilliant hues,
of blues and golden yellows.
Reflected in our friends sharp eyes.
Tears at the corners.
He lays his brushes down and steps back.
A moments pause,
Then the next painting, colour flooding his mind.
They are playing his song.
He can't seem to stop it.
The band marches on.
Brushes and pigments in time with the song.
Leaving the musician alone in the dark.
Music and instuments move by themselves.
What left to do now?
When the notes are all gone?
Comments about Vincent by Susan Casey
Edgar Allan Poe
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