This is something else, perhaps an ode to van Gogh, and that time just before the end when he still believed in his vision…
Drowning in your vision you became perfect, and yet, there was more to your dream that you were reaching for that you wanted to find.
Your brother said: remember to remain open to what comes to save you in your dying, and know there’s nothing that can save you but you, but I’ll be around to help.
But you’d been to the edge, and came back again; you’d been in those rooms of the lost and found nothing to move you; yet you knew there was more than the nothingness that was offered; and taking a deep breath so huge you moved on from all that and ended up where you couldn’t be found.
And painting those images you found so intriguing while the crones whistled up the dead, you painted life as you found it, that no-one could understand.
Convergences kept you busy amongst the crows and the sunflowers that blew in the wind of all your striving, to say what you could never say; and though you said what you could, it was never enough to appease that yearning of your heart that would not let you rest.
Was it madness that took you; or was it the grave you saw, and said: it’s not enough for a lifetime of this, to end up there all alone in the nothingness; I want more than that.
Wild was the wind of your soul; but wilder still was your hunger as you slew the beast that would drag you down. Your wings were your passion that you soared with, never, ever, to sink so low again.
But in the end, it was all too much, and not able to stand a moment more, you ended it...
Images from Pixabay
