"The Starry Night" by William Samuelson
Oh! Tortured van Gogh,
if only you could know
how much I yearn to understand
what you saw that night:
what was so special, so unique?
Or was it? Was this night distinguishable
from the one before and after?
of light traveling like the wind,
the wind communicating your anguish
at the impermanence of beauty.
They say the stars we see
may already be dead;
just remnants of the past,
a window into a world
so fleeting it no longer exists.
The night you saw them
is no more for ever more,
just as tonight is, but
without your brilliance how will,
how can we maintain this feeling,
this appreciation for the sky’s beauty.