“I put my heart and soul into my work,
and have lost my mind in the process.”
Taunted and tormented
Voices in his mind
Dreams filled with anguish
Love he couldn’t find
“Art is to console those who are broken by life.”
His heart, his soul
crushed by deep despair
struggling to breathe
weight he couldn’t bear
“One can speak poetry by arranging colors well.”
Swirls of cobalt
splash of emerald green
flashes of deep carmine
saffron flares between
“The night is more alive, more richly colored than the day.”
Nights beneath his brush
became life’s multicolored page
his words and wisdom were
far beyond his age.
“The more I think it over the more I feel there is
nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”
Love was not a certainty
but stars could make him dream
greatness escaped his grasp
his work remained unseen.
“A great fire burns within me, but no one stops
to warm themselves at it. Passersby see only a wisp of smoke.”
Had he not ended his life,
would his praises have been sung?
If you die so early
are you forever young?
Sorry for the problems with alignment.