

Van GoghHis eyes sprung open as the anvil of heat pressed heavy against his throat. On a mattress drenched with sweat, his nightshirt clung, itchy and old. Not even the blue-watered walls will quench the promise of the day seen beyond the solitary frame in the far wall. The frame.Van Gogh
The frame that holds a thousand masterpieces of the chameleon landscape. He curses as his bare feet touch the floor. No icy winter chill reminds him he is still alive. He wipes his brow with the back of an oily sleeve. Beyond the cell, beyond the frame, the endless golden fields carve a special hollow place in his gut. &nb
Logan
--
My photos : [link]
--
- Where the spirit does not work with the hand there is no art - (Leonardo da Vinci)
--
"Respect, revere, value...honor"
Thanks for the
--
Resources & Stock Gallery Moderator
--
- ~WhispersTree
-STOCK ~whynotastock
-Shop: [link]
Commission info : [link]
Previous Page12345...Next Page