The Wheat Field by Vincent Van Gogh
The golden stems they stood up tall
The sun was rising in the eastThe morning breeze caused the wheat to dance
Creating a visual feast
His asylum cell was cold & dark
He was a prisoner trapped within
But through the iron barred window frame
His creativity would begin
His eyes and immagination
Would take a journey beyond that cell
Then colours would dance on canvass
Transporting him from his hell
By KMFInspired by picture prompt at Magpie Tails
You have definitely captured Van Gogh!. The last part of your poem reflects his works.. I remember seeing Starry,Starry Night at the Getty and your words definitely fit his art.
ReplyDeleteperfection my friend !
ReplyDeletenice...if that was the view, prison migh tbe a little more tolerable...and hope he uses the fresh shot well...
ReplyDelete"He was a prisoner trapped within" - says it all...... beautiful piece!
ReplyDeleteYou captured the essence of Van Gogh's creative genius!
ReplyDeleteIt's amazing what our imaginations can achieve.
ReplyDeleteKalei's Best Friend ~ Thank you!
ReplyDeleteDavid Allen Waters ~ You are so kind!
Brian.. I do believe that it would have been his only escape to the trouble in his minds & we are so lucky that he had that cell, with that window, with that view.
Deb.. it is a horrible way to be, I just feel so deeply for him.
Helen thank you so kindly
Hi Tess.. thank you for posting this prompt. It actually sang right to my heart & in it's wake left me with some very personal reflections. Thank you also for your comment.
Excellent.
ReplyDeleteThank you Bee!!!
ReplyDelete