Van Gogh’s Last Self Portrait

He lost the battle in the cornfields when 
the sky gave the crows a victory.

“What will be left of me,” he thought.
“My sorrow will last forever,” his last words.

He walked the starless streets of  Auver a 
pencil, sketchbook in hand and drew nothing. 

The rows of lamplights receded, 
becoming walls of yellow clay.

At home, he painted himself 
with the bandaged ear and pipe.  

In the morning, he stand in those once 
glistening fields, with a revolver in hand.