Passion Lasts forever

Fell in love

But soon

Failed in love

She was engaged

Secretly to an other

Sent to be a dealer

Family wanted him

Wheeling and dealing

To Paris was he sent

In 1875

Art or commodity

Perverse vulgarity

Resentment led to

Termination

Fled Paris

For England

Turned to religion

Found his passion at last

This is what I want to do

True vocation mine to stay

Will serve my God

Till death cease my

Action apart

But failed again

Entrance exams

Couldn’t clear

Ok, a smaller post, but

Failed again

No diploma, not even a certificate

No chance

For even a tiny portion

Of the dream

Imagine

Couldn’t be a doctor

Not even a nurse

Not even an attendant

There is no room

In the hospital

But passion dies hard

Especially when

Kicked down by defeats

The force of the failures

Fuels its flames

The dream it meant to destroy

Resurrects with strength

Onward to Petit Wasmes

Borinage, Belgium

Into the coal mines

Living like a miner

Slept on straw spread floors

Behind the baker’s door

Foxes have holes

Birds have nests

But all he had was

Sobs and tears

But failure strikes again

Got kicked out

Of the coalmine

For undermining

The dignity of

The dream

Custodians of the dream

Guardians of the Church

Or art dealers from Rome

Family found him crazy

Sent him to an asylum

At Geel

Failed in love

Failed in dealing

Failed in religion

But the passion

Kept burning

Changed form

But kept burning

Turned to art

In the service of God

Some capture in words

And I will do pictures

Maybe the good times

Are at last in rolling

Love seems to come knocking

No sooner the notion

Old friend failure screams

Niet, Nooit, Nimmer

Failures come in all kinds

But the greatest of these is love

The preacher turns to prostitute

To Sien’s bosom for love

Love she did

Gonorrhoea he caught

Failure comes back visiting

Sardonic smiles

Passion enflamed

Turns menacing

He paints her with his brush

The art turns violent

To God be the glory

Gordina de Groot

Is pregnant

Time is running fast

How long would passion last?

The pictures and the prostitutes

Came fast, rapidly working his brush

Chased from the hospital

Not to be a doctor

Neither nurse nor attendant

He came back in

As a patient

For the asylum he sought

‘Fou roux’ was he called

The red headed madman

Friends and family desert

And failure promptly is back

For a last visit

Shot through his chest

At thirty-seven

Revolver he held

With his own hand

Passion ebbing

Twenty-nine long hours

Cigarette reaching its butt

Flicker ready to snuff

Closed his eyes

And out came the

Famous last words

‘The sadness

Will last

Forever’

A madman, menacing

Died a pauper

With no lover

To hold his hand

But sadness is passion reformed

Passion lasts forever

Who would have thought

The un-loved was a father

Expressionism

His true begotten child

Today worth in billions

He dwells amongst the rich

Famous he makes the ordinary

The ordinary has become famous

Millions call on his name

His pictures enframe their souls

The final battle commences

Failure charges passion

Passion flares its nostrils

A flick of the brush

A throw of the wrist

A death-blow it receives

And Failure falls to its knees

Failure fails to conquer

Receives a sardonic stab to the chest

Passion snuffs failure

Passion never dies

Passion lasts forever