On the threshold of eternity

Such melancholy becomes inevitable.

The artist is ultimately on his own

When no longer able to perceive connections.

The ultimate solitude overwhelms

As but a cog within an impersonal machine.

The process leaves no answers at all

When such sorrows bring desolation.

Hope seems all but forced

Vehemently as contemporaries ponder with intensity.

Language is all but symbol and allegory

Of prayers to simply recite forever.

07/11/2008

Author's Note: I had been reading the letters of van Gogh...

Posted on 07/11/2008
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