Tortured, Talented Souls

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A little poem

Submitted: November 22, 2012

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Submitted: November 22, 2012

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It cuts when tortured, talented souls die young,

Before great eyes are opened to their charm,

Keats’ heartbroken death beneath Bright Stars,

Tormented like Van Gogh in Starry Nights.

What use is it to praise them now though lost?

As suffer for their art they surely did,

Treasures left in time ‘till understood,

A mark of worth that it’s to late to give.

At least we recognise their dream at last,

To keep forever and remember on,

Though life was short, perpetual holds the grasp

Of the artists hand on hearts to form.


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