Gogh's Fields of Gold Ii

IT is dark down here & this awful reality
satisfies the ego and frightens the soul
but makes a state of distraction
;  an abomination --an abhorrence
for all that it implies -a living organism
as a leaf or a particle.

There is no non-life only emptiness & this filth
whose existence is temporary-- a first-trimester pregnancy
in an animal --a rejected spiritual soul, it is real-
life in simple terms-- the personal growth we are
so ignorant of the brave face of existence --a thing 
we will 'never' ever come to terms
with --the vagaries of Time which call to us
'cross the bridge' & walk the Yellow Streets
of Van Gogh.  

Hav you never ever walked the edge of fields of 
so yellow they smell of gold -- the wheat fields
of Vincent Van Gogh:  he was a bastard
to most but greatly to 'self' --> killed the personality
but never the Art 
nor the Soul

:: 04.29.2020 ::
rev:  0-10.3.2020 ::
Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

Poem

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Marc Avatar
January 10, 2022 at 5:43 PM
A wonderfully insightful poem.
Robles Avatar
January 4, 2024 at 9:36 PM
Thank you so very kindly.
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