He was considered a strange soul
even at the best of times
he had lots to say, through his brush
yet no one really noticed
a genius mind?
creating landscapes
and starry skies
which could have intrigued
even the most, stubborn of eyes
and sunflowers?
grown in a meadow
painted into a vase of pride and gratitude
bringing the colour yellow to life
a cry for help?
later claiming, he didn’t remember
just what had he done?
never the less, painted his pain
to share with the few who enjoyed his genius
a bandage, covering his now missing left ear
I often wonder why he chose the left one?
more than a hundred years on…
it seems more than just a few admired him
I can’t help but wonder
if he saw into the future?
looking right into his true worth and fame?
even though
It was only to be
upon his death…
that the world would truly see
his...
lonely canvas.