A Prelude to Vincent's Insanity

a poem about Vincent

he showed no emotion,
not even a tragic story,
could stur a tear.
his heart covered in frost,
eyes of coal,
an industrial soul.

never felt the warmth
of that soft loving touch.
never been with that person,
who made you feel so special.
his pen to the paper he wrote all day long,
words flowed out
but not a drop of emotion.
his pen being his friend,
he needed nothing more.

he was the Tin Man.
he has always been the Tin Man.
with a heart covered in frost,
eyes of coal
an industrial soul.