Vincent.

Sunbeams on windmills,
fields with row upon rows of sunflowers
such painted tapestries by Vincent.

Such boldness in his art
yet his mind blown far apart
was to end his day in such
tragic circumstance.

Appreciation was not of prime
and of time, such was the madness
around you for the driving you
to your insanity.

Such roughness in the beauty
you did transcribe with a wealthy
palette of colors only now truly
appreciated.

A master so many years before your
time, your works so extraordinary
without their suitors then, now perhaps
the time is ripe.

Such a talent misunderstood
for sanity left you in blues and greys,
but will they hear the cries you left
behind and ever set you free?

25th June, 2012 (c)