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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Decades of a formula that only he knew about it and drew, Cascades of his artwork came to a head in his last years, Glissades of a swan in a lake that only a handful had seen, Tirades made its mark on him, distant from fellow peers. ~~[Van Gogh]~~ Impressed of his art garnered some interest in his style, Oppressed, a constant companion only he can befriend, Obsessed by what he drew insanely violent he withdrew, Distressed he found salvation in asylums to not descend. ~~[Wheatfield With Crows]~~ Crows, black gawking, feed in a meadow ache for harvest, Know that art needs to be made, scheme food for thought, Those sinister birds, a murder of crows festering the grain, Throes a fit mocking 'em, flys, pained him more than aught. ~~[Starry Night]~~ Bleak sky of blues, stars gave rise to a miracle been made, Streak of a sprawl unfurls his heavens tethered madness, Speak not lest he loses his concentration, maintains focus, Meek town his groundwork, lofty jewel amidst the sadness. ~~[Bedroom At Arles]~~ Red, that laid on a bed, table, chairs, paintings on the wall, Said was where he severed his ear, water bowl mirror hung, Head bandaged where he bled, he does a self-portrait of it, Deadman walking, Gauguin part ways, no song to be sung. ~~[Self-Portrait Bandage Ear And Pipe]~~ Drew closer, when they were both young, be such friends, Few friends Van Gogh had, Gauguin was at that moment, Grew apart after Vince shaving Paul, Vince wanted to hurt, Knew time together was getting just a bit grave and potent. ~~[House At Auvers]~~ Return to Arles made Van Gogh happy for good times there, Upturn spirits was a rarity, too few and far in the middle, Discern with him was questionable because he's unstable, Concern for his good, art kept him busy, else is second fiddle. ~~[Doctor Gachet]~~ Fields back of the house, a pistol, he plans to shoot himself, Wields his pistol, shoots, nobody hears, years gun lays hidden, Yields his brother Theo to his side as doctor aides him little, Shields truth futile, his art was world-renown, dies bedridden.
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