Vincent on the Wall

Vincent, I see you on the wall. 

I see your eyes tired and searching 

your world for the beauty inside your own soul. 

Vincent, I see your eyes so full of pain, 

glassy, not yet clouded; 

your hair, dancing flame. 

Vincent, I see myself on the wall, 

the madness and romance of a complicated mind, 

the poetry and poison of sunflowers and stars, 

conflicting brush strokes, different directions of thought 

disguised as the artist’s style. 

Vincent, I see you in the dark. 

I see you when your power was at its finest, 

radiating from the flickering candles you put on your hat; 

your fierce representations of beauty and reality, 

and the places where you blended them with your brush. 

Vincent, I hold you in my heart. 

I hold the torture and the storm and the blazing light of your life. 

I hold the swirling colors in my hands and bite them with my teeth. 

Your spirit could not be extinguished with a bullet, my friend. 

The legacy of your beauty continues and I will be strong. 

My hair too, is dancing flame. 

My mind too, is wind-blown and sprawled across my soul. 

My eyes too, are beautiful and full of pain.