Stranger On Earth: Ode to Van Gogh

Ode to Van Gogh

"I wish it were all over now,"

He said,

Tears streaming down his face.

"Where is my place?

I don't belong."

Revolver was clutched

In two trembling hands

Where orange & blue paint

Still flaked beneath ragged nails.

Nine hundred paintings,

Nine hundred drills into the skull.

"All failed."

He trudged slowly

Towards the field, and

His last sunset-

Dripping oranges and reds

Of sky,

The last time.

When the red died,

A shot fled-pummeling

Into aching chest,

Creating dripping red,

Contentment, and finally,

And End.