You were more than that, just getting old.

Unimpressive stat was a lie, you were told.

Looking more uninviting, yes, you so cold.

Silence the key that you bought and sold.

You’ve been here, and I fear not very well.

You don’t read, and you need things to sell.

There you lay, it’s not ok where you fell.

Silence is the key when you ring the bell.

Help? Yes, I need to hear you say.

Sorry, Sister, there is no other way.

Is it any wonder at the come what may?

Up to you. Might not seee another day.

You are just a photo on the fridge to me.

Beside the magnet. One you’ll never see.

Time is fleeting. Now is gone. No more we.

I often wonder. No, I don’t. I just be.

The mood was light and airy.

All smiles seemed engrained.

They begged, “Stay in the moment.”

And yet, someone still complained.

No banquet halls were empty.

All musicians danced and played.

The bankers were all giving loans.

And the priests and wisemen prayed.

All pets were housed and fluffy.

All disease they found the cure.

The activists raised concerns.

To what? No one was sure.

I know it never happened.

I know it might sound rude.

But I have heard with mine own eyes.

People who complain about free food.

There was meaning in her silence.

A force in that smile.

I was at the launch of damaged past.

And she heaped me on that pile.

There’s a time for cool reflection.

Contemplation to be clear.

And there’s a time for quick escape.

And acknowledgment of fear.

I left her in the meadows.

I was shaking at the shore.

The tears are from the laughter.

And her silence has a roar.

The cold bore down upon them.

No signs of heat or heart.

Just murmurs of some warnings.

Like they told you from the start.

But NO! You wouldn’t listen.

And now you know the way.

If only you can get through this!

Just to live another day…

Some will heed your warnings.

Some will pray for shithouse luck.

Some will calmly walk through fire.

Smile sweet, don’t give a fuck.

Vincent might have been a better writer than he was a Painter, and unless you’ve read his letters to his brother Theo; then I’m certain that you might want to debate. I’m not interested…

I have read volumes on this mans life and death, and never have I encountered so much absolute bullshit and misinformation surrounding one person. This is the problem. If the public and humanity are so easily fooled, then all history comes into question.

Vincent Van Gogh did not cut off his ear and give his discarded body part to a prostitute… There is an actual police report, and the only witness to this supposed mythology was master swordsman PAUL GAUGHAN. Paul was not much for fiction. However, he did manage to fool most everyone with his efforts here.

Paul Gaughan cut off Vincent’s ear and created this story to evade jail. Scotland Yard detectives came to this conclusion several decades ago when they studied the police report. Vincent was too drunk to remember anything.

In the 1960s, the last of 3 brothers died, and on his death bed confessed that it was him and his brothers who accidentally shot Vincent. Vincent took days to die and was conscious, and he took this secret to his grave to ensure that these 3 brothers, his tormentors, wouldn’t be punished.

It’s my opinion that based on these 2 almost incidental examples; that history has a major problem.

They gathered in the city after abandoning the farms.

A silent somber motley crew, full of piss and doing harms.

They hardly drew a notice, just didn’t look the part.

The country cousins consortium, taking mayhem to an art.

They stole and raped and pillaged. Took a dark and fearsome path.

Until they ran into a ringer with a cold and wicked laugh.

There’s a silence in the meadows. She is waiting by the phone.

But her boys don’t call or write. For their sins they must atone.

I don’t worry too much about love.

I have never been that cold.

Had it bad for scent and beauty.

No more meaning she could hold.

In the end, I grew from gullible.

I held on for the ride.

Like a soldier has his duty.

I kept all those things inside

It’s just daydreams hope desire.

I guess I am that blessed.

To know now how you felt then.

I just never would have guessed.

I don’t worry much about love.

My head it feels so clear.

No more hunger expectations.

I just walk the earth, my dear.

She said she was a mother, but not much of a daughter.

Said, “You reap now what you sow.” Which landed like cold water.

I don’t believe in luck or the curse she said I brought her.

But to say that looks could kill. I was the lamb they brought to the slaughter.

I asked, “You don’t like men?” There was so much I could have taught her.

She was past the learning stage except from scars of those who fought her.

Baby took a deep dive, I wasn’t there, I could have caught her.

No crying over.spilt milk. Or whatever it was that got her.

Piano rose above the frost line.

Sweet music cold and still.

She held that note and damn the cost.

I just had to get my fill.

My attention was the darkness

Gold light did touch her face.

I’m so attracted to your beauty, dear.

My mind is in that race.

Now, I hunger for the quiet.

And how that used to be.

Before the beauty and the music.

Before this madness that I see.