An artist’s mark can be found on most pieces… it being a name, initials, and/or some form of stamp or mark… Linking the creation to the creator… Van Gogh is no exception to this rule... His name can be found on many of his pieces yet I feel a more predominant mark has been hidden in plain sight… Van Gogh’s self-portrait (1889 – Blue) clearly shows the fatigued and sickly look in his eyes… eyes that are as identical to Portrait of a Peasant (Patience Escalier – 1888).

Van Gogh’s subjects were used many times and in many variations of ways and angles. Portrait of a Peasant is such a piece... The shape and look of the eyes vary dramatically. But the almost carbon copy of the shape, look, and sadness from Portrait of a Peasant and Van Gogh’s self-portrait can't just be coincidence. I believe that Van Gogh either drew it unintentionally and as sad as it might seem unconsciously. Both of which I feel were a clear cry for help by a man who struggled with what obviously depression.

Van Gogh’s portrait of his mother also has similar eyes. Leonardo da Vinci and William Shakespear both said, “eyes are the window to the soul” and in Van Gogh’s case one that was filled with torment, loneliness, and a need for belonging.

Far be it from me to criticize anyone who does not agree with my synopsis of such things nor do I consider myself an expert in such matters, but the lightbulb in my head flickers quite often when looking over Vincent’s paintings.

The truth might never come to light and my opinion on the matter might be nothing more than one trying to make sense of the senseless. Trying in the most obvious way coping with the idea that a talent such as this was cut short in what possibly was the incline of his artistic career.

Conviction and honesty…both of which seems to be seldom found in modern day. Long gone are the days of Starry Night and Salvator Mundi. The authenticity and childlike excitement of creating and moreover discovering such pieces has fade to a world beyond stars and imagination. In its absence we find degeneracy on such an unapologetic level that it’s almost humorous the level of ignorance that surrounds it…almost.

The monumental mark that artists like Van Gogh, Monet, and Renoir left behind have and will continue to be something that we should all strive for regardless of whatever niche or pocket we find ourselves.

The fear of being the nail that sticks out has created such an overwhelming presence that we have all been hammered to a point were true creation is almost nonexistent.

Every time religion, a political agenda, or an authoritative power or state interjects the artists strokes faulter and the vision is blurred or all together fades to black.

Leave it to man to forcibly remove the colors of life. One by one until all that’s left is a world of perpetual gray.

And when the dust settles and the footprint of man all but disappears who or what will be left to appreciate the few moments where art outshined the darkness that we see in our day to day?

Blues and greens… add a warmth to pain.
Drown scars like water
A solace in an otherwise vast emptiness

To wake before the sun
To sleep without the greeting of the stars
In a room. Full of memories yet void of life
It’s the mind that holds one back
The faint echos of chaos
Despair... A word I know all to well

I find the fragments between such pains my only solace.
The fatigue of my thoughts its release
For man in its complexity is such a simple thing
Made of flesh and bone
And nothing else

It sits…
The colors at one point bright
Now fade and soon turn grey
It stood once…as high as the sky itself
But now… hunched over
Burdened by time and neglect
For it was deprived
And deprivation is all it has to feed on.

With each lie a crack forms...
Each act of deceit...a fragment lost
A pain that's all to familiar...
All that's left are tears...
And alas no amount will quench your thirst

Such is this
For we wake to a day that’s not promised
And waste it without humility
And each day that fades so does the candle’s flame.
For when the room falls to darkness
The melted wax is what remains

I wake...and from bed a chill overtakes me... the rustling of the trees... the dancing of the drapes... The wind...

I sit there for a moment... as bumps cover my arms... my lips turn cold...

My feet touch the ground... it sparks a memory... a dream... a mixture of both... As cold as marble but as familiar as a friend... Its the routine...

I make my way to the window to shut it... The crackling of the wood as it falls shut... I stand there... gazing on the world beyond... An illusion...

Silence now... no rustling of trees... no wind... but the cold lingers... The bumps on my arms... the proof...

I'm the one that made a promise
And you, the one that broke it...
Words that are empty...like the bottles on the floor...
Bless-ed be the broken
Blessed are the lost
For like me they are alone.

With wood and nails, we build a boat
So man like God can learn to float
He sets his sails across the sea
Row in hand alone he’ll be
The waves clashed… the sea was rough
The stormy clouds were not a bluff
The rain cleared and from its mist
Another name upon death’s list

For within the hallowed ground
Of marbled stone
Sits fog.. of sorrow and woe
It lingers…lingers of promises made but broken with time.
And of conversations that the wind now carry…
The leafless trees stand guard upon this temple of man
Cover your heads…mock not the tears that fall
For like the coals of a once lit fire we crumble…
And the wrinkles upon one’s hand is the reminder…

With a heavy heart do I stumble…
With wounds deeper than the treachery that caused them…
Oh and to what extant do these treacheries reach…
To what ends does the poison flow
With icy cold fingers that holds the blade that strikes…
With callous...such callous is the impertinence of thy
For who is to blame? Nor you…nor I…
But trust…
Oh and such a word...for only man would have to create such a word to than create another to destroy...
Who’s like an infant...its only guilt... innocence
And yet as life fades... as does the burden I carry
Take this crown for it holds no value... and wear it well…
For tomorrow brings a new day…
And may you see this I hope… the sun rise and set
For I no longer have that luxury…

Your love is like a whisper...a whisper of a promise that is never fulfilled and a lie that grows like the wrinkles on the hand with age.

The red roses of Abby Grove,
Stems of green and pollen gold,
Fallen leaves and the faint of scent
Winter comes in it’s deep decent.
The cold chill covers the once red field.
Lifeless and plain that holds no yield.
A once known fragrance now lost in white.
In the darkness under the moons bright light.
Is known. And forgotten in the spring last past.
Trees of green and meadows vast.
The meadow now white with snow
From echo cries of the faint black crow.
The red roses of Abby grove,
Once bright red now lost in snow.
Stems of green and pollen gold.

From time to time I lay in bed and listen to the Shindler's List sad violin music and stare at the ceiling...never been much of a religious man but if id believe in anything it be to whatever higher power that lets man create music with such honest, real, raw emotion at that piece of music.

The picture that comes to my mind is a bird in winter exhausting looking for food...as the blanket of snow covers a once green field now lays dead...I see myself as that bird...ever looking...ever hoping...

But because its simply a bird and its understanding of the severity of its situation is as oblivious is as its innocence...will it succumb to the cold bitter world and lay in that snow...rest in peace my little friend...for you and I are one in the same...

With fingers from behind the bed that reach out in the dark
The wrinkled skin, and sharp chipped nails...reminds you that shes come
You hide underneath the blanket, with little to no hope
As if standing upon the gallows staring at the rope...
Death comes in many forms...its unclear...which may come
But know that when it picks your name it leaves your body numb
It whispers your name...as if in a prayer
And if it takes you early, it leaves you...with no heir
Don't ask what it looks like for none that live will know
And if you go searching its power will surly grow

Like Meadowlarks upon the wheat
Who's songs speak of truth
I lay upon the field of gold
I lay there as if mute
Their songs can be heard from miles around
A sweet song they sing
For the memories of lovers lost
Is a...all to familiar sting
I reach out to grab the sun which leaves me in despair
The memories of what has gone is to much for one to bear
The breeze bring a simple touch...a kiss upon my face
But quickly does it remind me of this vast empty space
I lay here upon this field...that dirties my clean shirt
The stains of which I've earned... remind me of the hurt
Dear sweet meadowlarks sing me your songs of joy
For all that's left of me... is a lost little boy

I find myself upon hallowed ground...
Amonst a courtyard of marbled stone
Whos touch is as cold as the winter night
Whos names are as blurred as the morning fog
That blankets the truth from unfamiliar eyes...
The leaves blow around me in a dance as if rehearsed
I find myself lost amongst this peace...
Never welcomed...never forgotten...
For what lays here is but a memory and a promise...
A promise that I shall return...and never leave...
Will that day be as cold as today?
As empty as the freshly dug graves?
Who will fill them?

You make me feel as small as a single grain of sand... that falls in an hourglass as dark as the corners of a unlit room and lost forever like the secrets of children unborn to mothers buried from a short-lived life unloved and forgotten.

“Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more? In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary? Where is the foundling’s father hidden? Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.”

― Herman Melville, Moby ****


One of the most raw and emotional things i have ever read and or heard be read.

I love Herman Melville may his words forever be available for future readers and writers alike.

Where does the sunset go?
With orange fire to lead its way
And I a bird upon a tree
To gaze upon the sky so free
Where do the stars begin?
On horizons deep and true
And what reflections do we see upon the morning dew
What truth is spoken upon our wake
What lies are worth a word
A box hidden that holds the ground
For where my love is found
My love for you is surpassed by none
For its true, pure, and free
For whistles from kettles sound upon a cup of tea

In measurement of time man is a grain of sand in an hourglass as vast as the universe itself. Every moment captured in memory makes that hourglass fill...Every failure...every triumph is another grain that falls....in time it will be covered by others...in time we shall all be forgotten....Can you tell me what moment in time did the first grain fall? What moment will be the last? Who will tilt the glass in the end?

Looking into your eyes
I see what the blind see
Hearing your voice
I hear what the deaf hear
For my heart speaks truth that only the mute repeat
Your beauty is that of flowers bloom
That hold in it the innocence of life
So fragile that a passing wind makes it kneel
So powerful that the fragrance forever is remembered
You are that of Cherry Blossoms
Who's beauty comes and goes with the seasons
Who's beauty is as if painted on a canvas to live for eternity.

A school in which we learned
Bodies gathered to be burned
Behind these walls are death camps now
Cause and reason we ask how?
About a field is what they'll say
A field of death is where they lay
Do we speak of a war-torn land?
Americas shadow is where we stand
Remember those who lost their lives
Weapons used were guns and knives
Countless names we add to lists
Numbers tattooed to our wrists
What's so different in the world today
Nothing for the clouds are gray

Drift upon a sea of regret
my feet drag on the failures of my past
and weaken at missed opportunities

the waves cut my soul with words past said
the winds whispers the lies
the storm consumes me

Drift upon a sea of regret
i reach out my hand to lovers lost
they sink into darkness
their once warm touch is now gone

Nightfall appears unwelcome
The stars as vast as my sorrow
Each shine as a reminder
For i stand at sea alone

Falling in darkness...
Arms out for help...the void extends its hand
Sadness and despair embraces me...
A blindness overtakes me...
For now I see the truth
The once fading light of a candle was the creator
The smoke that rose once gone...his ghost
For it fades into nothing...
Nothing from which it came from and which it returns...

In measurement of time man is a grain of sand in an hourglass as big as the universe itself. Every moment captured in memory makes that hourglass fill...Every failure...every triumph is another grain that falls....in time it will be covered by others...in time we shall all be forgotten....Can you tell me what moment in time did the first grain fall? What moment will be the last? Who will tilt the glass in the end?

Upon my deathbed years from now when asked do you have any regrets
My reply will be simple...my reply will be pure...
It will be said that upon my last breath as a single tear rolled down my cheek
I replied, "For being born in a world that showed me no love... when all I wanted was to share mine"
Praised be to the lord that holds me in bitterness...for he plays the chessboard well...
and I am the first and only pawn taken upon that board...

Sitting upon trees burned
Whos foul named weve yet learned
Holds out hands with fingers bare
Lord of hell whos son is heir
Stands a figure whos cloak and shroud
Burns a darkness in fearful cloud
A sickle in hand gripped real tight
Tells a story of darkened plight
Now we lay in a hole just dug
With tombstones bare like a passing shrug

Standing alone in a field of mist and fog I find my only companions the lacerated remains of my body and soul

for the hallowed cries of crows torment me in despair with sadness so deep that the ocean itself could be consumed by it

As the morning fog fades so does my purity for all that's left is the cries of the seagulls by the sea and their reflection my memory

I find love to be nothing but broken fragments of memories that portray all happiness in one moment
...or that of a painting in a lonesome hallway forgotten in darkness that holds the truth to blind eyes

Alone in darkness we find ourselves
Alone in time and space
And among these billion stars... we find the human race
From distance its beauty is found in green, blue, and even white
But a closer look we find a world full of overwhelming plight
How petty is the human race?
What little do we chase
What wonders do we over look?
With little to no grace
We fight out petty fights
And hope fault is shown
And when we lose an argument
We throw the largest stone
Instead of standing up for truth
To teach our troubled youth
A web of lies is what is sown
To win an imaginary throne

With clubs we build the foundation
With diamonds we buy the tools
With clovers we decorate our garden
The heart is where it all starts

But the wind just blows it away
The aged hands shakes it all to nothing
The colors red and black separates us all

Give me a reason to rebuild
Give me a reason to pick up the pieces
Give me a reason to keep going

Be the Queen to my castle...
Let me be your King...

For at the end...its the joker that gets the last laugh...
And the rules mean nothing...

With fingers bare and wrinkles shown
Much less is little known
With hands under cloak and shroud
A death a day is what is vowed
A figure in the darkest night
Weakens the soul from out of sight...

A mouth opened, and a whispered name
The lungs of one are fully drained...
The hands of the named now ice cold
The cause and reason are withhold

A widow stands at the grave site now
With eyes red and a wrinkled brow
Who knows what time will tell
But her name too will be whispered well

Why fear the darkness for the night brings dreams and a yearning of a kingdom for which man can fly and a lovers kiss warms the soul itself.

What gives us wisdom but what the blind see
What gives us knowledge for the mute hold the answer
What gives us truth for the deaf hear it so well...

The night is a wondrous thing for its only companion is fear....and fear its greatest weapon.

From the darkest corners of my soul
To the broken boarders of my heart
I find myself lost in darkness
From what was once an experience with familiarity so clear
That a blind man could paint on canvas...
is now but figments of broken memories
With sadness so deep that no sonnet could convey the depths of my despair
I find myself in the company of an angel's kiss, a demon’s touch.

A cheer to the fallen...a cheer to their name...For the soldiers of England is who are to blame. A sip of old whisky... a sting in the throat...for every glass emptied is another name wrote.

With shallow graves we find the nameless
With each shovel of dirt we bury the truth
For the past is forgotten and the future unknown
The darkness is our blanket

Where lies a field of unblossomed flowers and unplanted trees in what man stands alone?…

Where lies the final season, where the unblossomed flowers grow? In what field do these trees stand?

Where a wind is the hand of God…gentle will it let us fly like pollen gold in the bright day's sky.

Our souls are like the patterns on the backs of birds...and the secret of our innocence lay in their reflection...

for the blind see what we glance at...
the deaf hear the truth...
and the mute repeat it.

The empty halls of Bisbellow Mannor
Cold and dark under the torn burned banner
The empty rooms once full of life
Stand still and quiet from troubled strife
The empty stables once full of grace
Stands decayed and forgotten in time and space
The royal banner flew once high and proud
Lays fallen and thorn in mist and shroud
Greed and power let to blame
Covers this kingdom under a mist of shame
The hand that pulled the bow string tight
Released the arrow with fury’s might
Like lightning flew in the clouded sky
Through gale and rain with no reply
Struck the chest through a metal shield
Fell the king on the littered field