Never Ending, Never Standing Still

The Sky shines like raging flames as the sun is no more. The colors dancing like a daffodil In the wind never ending, never standing still.

Isn’t that what you saw Vincent?

Like when when you saw the night sky, You saw a deep blue and a lighter blue blowing Through the blueness and a blackish red wind swirling through the air and then shining, Bursting through the stars. Never ending, never standing still.

Isn’t that what you saw Vincent?

You don’t see black white or grey.

No, you see a bluish black and yellowish white and grey, and a blue in white with a dash of Yellow; moving through the sky, Never ending, Never standing still.

Isn’t that what you saw Vincent?

No one saw no one listened, for no one cared. You sit on your hill.

A l o n e.

Cold.

Awaiting the wind to tell you what to paint now.

Do not fret for I am here.

You’re not alone Vincent for I have your tears.

I see how your work engulfs the eyes of those who casted you way,

I see how their descendants now worship your work, and leave it out to display.

I see now Vincent, that you are the father of modern art, with sons and daughters who are dreamers like you once were, swaying vast strokes of their brush dreaming and being, like You once did.

I see the pain you went through with every stoke, with every color, with every shade

Never ending, never standing still.

I see what you saw Vincent.