The Chairs of Van Gogh

A long life can be a blessing tinged in blue.
You may end up in a garish room.
A single bed, a straw chair like Van Gogh.

With very few friends left, if any.
Loves scattered about like gold flakes in drought.
If love lived next door, they wouldn't visit anyhow...
Nobody fancies being in the foothills of death.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2024

Poem

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Allison Avatar
July 27, 2024 at 12:52 PM
i write with tears in my eyes Anthony, your words are heart breaking on so many levels. I visited mum in her care home almost every day - some residents seldom got visitors - the second stanza in particular certainly packs a punch. hugs Jan xx
Bianco Avatar
July 28, 2024 at 3:15 PM
Thanks Jan now I'll write a silly poem to dry those tears. God bless you and your mum Anthony
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