Ahead Of His Time

The artist born ahead of his time Will see no reward, no glory, no fame Alone with his demons He wrestles to the death. Van Gogh was One They said a madman a lunatic no doubt Only brother Theo could glimpse Who he was And brother love pulled Spirit through fire With paint, brushes a kind word and a coin or two Young Vincent held on Compelled To see the dying of the world Sweating in the fields hot burning sun hour upon hour Sunflowers explode Life's mad beauty The trees are alive and stars shake the heavens Awake Sleeping fools Put out your eyes and see! Cut off your ears and hear! In a tiny room Alone Poor, dirty wretch Light slips through the door Unnoticed All that love Rejected All that blood poured out On canvas. The artist born ahead of his time Must die ahead of his time too. Starry, starry wonderful night Life and death are the stuff of dreams It is painted ‘cross the sky Light years ago A star burned out Far, far away And only now After millions of years And millions of miles That dying light Finally Reaches our eyes. (Previously published in ArtsFusion, Dec 99 - Jan 00, Issue 17; Poetry Soul to Soul, July 2001)