Vincent Van Gogh

The need for the smooth pen against his hand,
A genius who is trapped, stuck inside of his own head.
A man whose inner struggles overwhelmed
and many times tried to steal him away.
His demons haunted day and night, and never set him free.
Not aware of his power, but of his overwhelming passion
that could not be contained.
He lived his life feeling like he was never in control.
Such a talent and a passion,
a pain that takes it's toll,
The weight became to heavy and eventually he broke.
He created lovely sensations, of the land, the wind and sky
It's a force that draws you in, it's a feeling deep inside.
He was never really painting, but expressing every thought
each piece has personality, a life inside the art.
There's movement and excitement, the canvas comes to life
This feeling is the passion, the emotion and the drive.
Shadows dance around the canvas, like a ballerina in the spring.
His little strokes of inspiration, change the meaning of the art
He was drawn to where the madness is, and wished to never part.
Never seeing the admiration, for the pieces of his heart
The darkness came and took it's claim, leaving us with his art.
A man whose state had sealed his fate, and doomed him from the start.
You could say it's hard to love someone who couldn't love themselves
whose light went out, to be without, the pain that he had housed.

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