Starry, starry night

 


 

 When I say Van Gough I think of blue,
Of Sadness, and of one missing ear ,
When I say Van Gough, I think of yellow,
Of missmatched puzzle pieces,
And of isolation in the shell of being.
There’s a bit of Van Gough in all of us,
One which will never be able
To tell to this world
The things that refuse to let themselves
Captured in words.
When I say Van Gough I think of wheat fields,
Of sun flowers, and of a world
Ciphered in colored methaphores, and
Of an implacable ephemerity
Of breathing.


Toronto
January 15, 2008
By adria


© 2009 adria (All rights reserved)