†††††††††††††††††††††††† The last painting of Vincent Van Gogh.

 

 

 

 

A Vincent to go

 

By M.D. Ward

 

 

 

You can't hear the flowers cry.  Vincent did and put a

bullet thru his

brain.  there are those who go under the world and

those that sit on

crystal mountain tops.  I remain in the middle in

limbo with vultures

chewing on my liver. Would that they pluck out my eyes. I

am a chain

clinging to a rock in space.  It is wisdom to remain

still and be eaten

alive piece after piece as all things are devoured in the

maw of time.

Sunflowers sucked dry by the orange sun droop and

die.  If you had

Vincent's ear you could hear them cry. Sliced down by the

beast in the

black forest of life.  And the sparrows land and hop

like tiny toys as

an old man tosses manna and the sky breaks down in tears.

He didnít have

to kill himself.  But the God's were hungry for

beauty.  And the God's

never wait.  M   

 

 

 

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