Dreaming Again

In silent moments of Solitude
I've gathered my thoughts
Feeling that once stood ground
are now at half mast.
Unable to have a clear vision
I'm left far behind...
With an empty pocket
and a sun burnt face
Slowly a silhouette appeared
Before me i vaguely saw it was he.
The mysterious man with the same face
haunting my dreams constantly
with vivid emotions
not once, not twice but three times

Each time i failed to see the face
an identity so concealed
a blinding halo
that was once his to wear.
A fallen soldier
in dire search of a maiden
with hope and happiness
until he gave that away too.

A fair maiden was she
with the purest of heart
Like the whiteness of the fairest dove
If only she had been set free
out into the dangerous world
Then only would she understand
the perils of this brave soldier.

Almond Blossoms

Van Gogh writes of the weather and that the almond trees are coming into full flower, "The weather here is changeable, often windy with turbulent skies, but the almond trees are beginning to flower everywhere."

Theo wrote to his brother Vincent on January 31, 1890 to announce the birth of his son, Vincent Willem Van Gogh. As a means of celebration, Van Gogh began work on a painting for Theo and his wife. He was very close to his brother and he sought to symbolize new life in the flowers of the almond tree for the birth of baby Vincent.

Van Gogh wrote to his mother of the birth of Theo and Jo's baby,

"How glad I was when the news came... I should have greatly preferred him to call the boy after Father, of whom I have been thinking so much these days, instead of after me; but seeing it has now been done, I started right away to make a picture for him, to hang in their bedroom, big branches of white almond blossom against a blue sky."

The composition is unlike any other of Van Gogh's paintings. The branches of the almond tree seem to float against the blue sky and fill the picture plane. The close-up of the branches brings to mind Delacroix's proposition that "even a part of a thing is kind of a complete entity in itself." Dark lines outline the branches. This is a feature that Van Gogh had admired in Japanese floral studies that, for example, may depict of a portion of a stalk of bamboo in an empty space. The bright color is reflective of the paintings made in Arles and the transformational work Van Gogh had on the still life genre..

Trembling of Time

Heartless as the cold december night
She put on a brave face...
His heart cried for mercy
As it reflected through the sadness in his eyes
The high cheek bones of weariness
Were his only outlook...

Her eyes dropped tears
In constant with the falling rain outside
With feelings of hopelessness
And stirred emotions
He was all she ever knew.
Even though the future seemed distant
She strongly believed in him
And the love she had for him
Which he would never find out...

But,
He thought of her as a miserable witch
Who did nothin but castes spells
Stole his heart and then threw it away.
To him she was heartless, emotionless
And selfish all by nature...
Somehow he still hadn't understood her
After all these years!!!

What he didn't know was that she was very different.
Kind hearted, gentle, thoughtful and caring.
Every night before she slept
she always thought of him and prayed
With longing-ness to be in his arms...
But he locked himself in a tower
That stood high above the rest
And further away from everyone especially her...

With next January she grew tired of his games
As frail as the barren oak trees
And as leafless as the evergreen ones
She needed him to stay strong
But he pushed himself away
Unable to understand the person she is
And soon after he took his own life
Not realizing it caused hers to follow too!

C'est La Vie

Four hours passes as dawn slowly broke
No love nor happiness
Dull as the shivering grey morning
The skies cried for clarity
As tunes on the radio went silent
With patient waiting
And no room for change
All ignites for hope was (((lost)))
With stolen promises
and refusal to rekindle old flames
Darkness stood bolder than ever
Until the first dew was formed
Was there ever a choice?
Like the soft petals of a rose
No sunshine nor rain
Would ever know of the pain
As Feelings and time stood still.