Starry Night

From his asylum, he saw a view,

Didn’t think much of it, just painted.

Mixing colours, creating a perfect hue,

Now with his starry night, I have been acquainted.

Alone he was, heart filled with despair,

His swirly brush strokes created a masterpiece.

Though of his brilliance, he was unaware,

But it bestows on me a lot of peace.

As I look upon this night sky,

My eyes fill up with tears.

Under his moonlight, I want to lie,

And confront my deepest fears.

As the village below sleeps,

The yellow crescent brings a glimmer of hope.

At the artist’s tragedy, the world weeps,

This night makes me a mope.

I confess I do not know why,

But looking at the stars always makes me dream.

His eleven stars force me to cry,

As does the shining moonbeam.

Overwhelmed by this beauty,

I stare at the painting for hours.

Within it, I get lost absolutely,

Over me, it holds great powers.

Like my soul, the sky is blue,

The cypress reminds me of my mortality.

I want to see the world through his point of view,

How did he perceive his reality?

In his loneliness, he made the best art,

What saddens me, that he couldn’t see.

Breaking is now my heart,

If only he could know, how much it means to me.