Orchard with Cypresses A painting By Vincent Van Gogh
In sunlit fields where olive trees grow,
Vincent wandered, mind aglow.
The blue of skies, a restless sea,
Matched the turmoil he longed to free.
The cypresses stood tall and proud,
Dark green fingers, reaching the cloud.
They whispered secrets to the breeze,
Of madness, pain, and transient peace.
Golden hues of wheat did dance,
In the light’s eternal trance.
A vivid orange, a burning fire,
Igniting Vincent’s deep desire.
His brush swept across the land,
In every stroke, a trembling hand.
He saw in colors, life’s cruel jest,
Yet found in them his living quest.
The orchard, a symphony of tone,
From ochre earth to twilight’s loam.
Greens and yellows, bright and bold,
Spoke of a spirit uncontrolled.
Amid the hues of blue and gold,
Vincent’s soul began to unfold.
A sky so deep, it knew no end,
In every shadow, a new found friend.
And in the cypresses’ silent sway,
He captured night inside each day.
Their darkness did not breed despair,
But held his light with tender care.
A life in color, fierce and bright,
His orchard bloomed in endless sight.
Each brushstroke, a glimpse of pain,
Yet in each stroke, in death regained.
Vincent Van Gogh
Dying In poverty Another Suicide, This Painting Fetched One Hundred Seventeen Million Dollars in 2022.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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