Ahead Of His Time

The artist born ahead of his time
Will see no reward, no glory, no fame
Alone with his demons
He wrestles to the death.

Van Gogh was
One
They said a madman a lunatic no doubt
Only brother Theo could glimpse
Who he was
And brother love pulled
Spirit through fire
With paint, brushes a kind word and a coin or two
Young Vincent held on
Compelled
To see the dying of the world
Sweating in the fields hot burning sun hour upon hour
Sunflowers explode
Life’s mad beauty
The trees are alive and stars shake the heavens
Awake
Sleeping fools
Put out your eyes and see!
Cut off your ears and hear!

In a tiny room
Alone
Poor, dirty wretch
Light slips through the door
Unnoticed
All that love
Rejected
All that blood poured out
On canvas.

The artist born ahead of his time
Must die ahead of his time too.

Starry, starry wonderful night
Life and death are the stuff of dreams
It is painted ‘cross the sky
Light years ago
A star burned out
Far, far away
And only now
After millions of years
And millions of miles
That dying light
Finally

Reaches our eyes.


(Previously published in ArtsFusion, Dec 99 - Jan 00, Issue 17)