But Vincent I could have told you
that this world was not meant for
someone as beautiful as you were.

I have lived here longer than you have, experienced the intensity of the physical beauty, the sound, the texture, and the colour.

Vincent, the colour.

It sweeps you up
into the most glorious sunsets and sunrises.
To become one with yellow
and then to return
to the pink state of my original skin.
Such visions of delight and wonder
are visible only to children

Vincent I am alone

Caught in the mixture of wonder and creativity, in the spontaneous creative quick of the spirit that is on fire.
I consist of fire and I purge and light up the darkness in the darkest parts of human hell.

From that passion and pathos,
from that fire,
I then return to the tranquillity
and movement of eternal water.

I return to water.
I become water and disappear from the hands, the hands of those that wish to capture and possess the soul of a creator;
those that contain and keep me in the darkness of their fear. 

Vincent I am alone
And I long to return home

And yet I am told to remain
among foreign languages,
of greed, haste, power, control,
corruption and annihilation;
of all that consists of the embrace
and fullness of life in love.
Love in freedom

Vincent my heart aches

as I look into the plains,
the rivers of my life
And find that there is such an appearance about human activity.

It is all an appearance

And then you have the creator,
the damned one
that for some reason or rather
has remained innocent
among the world of agenda,
control and power.

He seeks to go beyond appearance.
He seeks to be a lover of concepts,
ideals and humanity.

What madness!
Remaining faithful to ideals,
to dreams,
to love.

The revolution of love.