Van Gough

Yellow swirls on a smoke dark field
Of dancing, shining stars
Copper bleeds with solarian
In an eruption of sunflowers
From a terra cotta vase
An old man’s careworn face
Reapers in a wheat field
bundling up the sheaves.
Over paint piled deeply
Over virgin canvas
The ride the rainbow-colored seas.

He who was never whole
felt the hand of madness
Who could not feel the grace
Of his own burning beauty
Who made love to the world
As paint ran through his fingers
His soul craved the oil
As trees crave the soil

He craved the light
The colorous passion
He bled onto the canvas
As all true artists do
Bled out his soul
till nothing remained
But color on canvas
But the brushes on the floor
And the lights of the city
Under swirls of dancing stars.

He was one of those
Who thought themselves unworthy
Of life, and so they made
The world a beautiful country

He was one of those
Who empty themselves
To show the world the beautyOf the passionate face of God.