Van Gough
touch me sky... as you touched him
spiraled cathedrals of twirling color
eyes dare not see.... in voices
the deaf drag in silence... screeming
there pears in the mud.
Van Gough heard them cry...
his sacred fingers to feel the knife
that slung his spirit to those stars
and(............. i, * ** *
can only hope to look...
following in a painting bright.
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Copyright © Orphani ..........O | Year Posted 2009
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