Gogh

“…and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?”

Wasn’t It enough??
To put a Bullet through my Chest
For you to know the Red: Mine
And the Yellows and the Blues and Moods and the Strokes and the Hues
With every hand stroke painting a breeze or a midnight…
Landscapes and Portraits all for the private Gallery of Memory
The great Museums of Legacy.

And though Eccentric and Nonentity, I be:
The Brush and the Depression Beckon
And if Red Eyes or Tear Stained Canvas ever deter
Then I would be a Man even Lower than I am..
And through the Greyscale Days and Starry Nights
The Pencil Etches on Paper..
The Old Man Sorrows..
And even with the Bullet in my Breast
I Walk

And I Live.
Like Bogemann,
“Love Many Things” You Said
Though the Love was Unequal
And the Strychnine Calls…
Just as the History Books recall
Except You Don’t Rescue Me.

As Colours Cool
And Blues Permeate the Psyche..
The Sower Sows,
The Plum Tree Blooms
I Look to the Starry Night
…………………………………..

I Died long before the Red Paint on my Chest
“The only time I feel alive is when I’m painting.”
And Years Ago I dropped my Brush

But as the Pain Seared, and I Walked…
And the Pain Seared and I Sat…
And the Pain Seared and I Smoked…

At Dusk It Dawned;
“The sadness will last forever.”
- Gogh