in memory of Vincent

"Death is like  a journey to the stars; to die peacefully is like going there on foot"

-Vincent Van Gogh

Vincent (Starry Starry Night) by Don Mclean 

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land. 

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.

Perhaps they'll listen now. 

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand. 

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now. 

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you. 

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow. 

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will... 

I remember my dad singing this song at the top of his lungs when I was little. I would glare at him to shut up. I never pondered on who Vincent was, but I recall feeling a soft tinge of sympathy for him. 

That sympathy grew today when I read about Vincent Van Gogh; how he suffered a haunted mind; how he ventured all his life in a search for happiness and in the end, found nothing. 

Remarkable personalities like Vincent deeply fascinate me. They lived miserable lives and struggled against disabilities that slowly fed on their being, never living long enough to witness the change they had dawned on the world. Maybe this world truly was not meant for one as beautiful as they were, but we're lucky, aren't we? Lucky to have seen with our eyes the legacies they have left. Maybe it's up to us. It's up to us let them go unappreciated all our years here on earth, or to start creating our legacies as well.