Words fracture splintering brains in concussive reverie.
The melancholy of sweet depression
like Poe and Vincent Van Gogh
those who were fraught with despair
have created haute cuisines
of flesh, of reds, of spleen
they’ve picked up their brushes, their pen and ink
their palettes exploded, fit to repair
splayed open wide
their vision, their loneliness and
the haunting beauty that possessed their minds
their art, wild and wanton
masterpieces of expression
born out of tongues that spoke with hysteria
and sights of historical blessings
that spoke about The Starry Night
of Annabel and The Raven’s delight
that spoke of shimmer, shiver and fright
of howling, wailing wicked light!
Vincent Van Gogh and
Edgar Allan Poe.
(I wrote this poetry as a tribute to both of these amazing artist’s. The above painting I did is of Michael Wolgemut, Vincent Van Gogh’s mentor and teacher; I painted him because I love Vincent Van Gogh and his work and was instantly attracted to his eyes, “the eyes are the window to the soul” as they say)
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