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Van Gogh - Beautiful Screams Why is it that those who hear the most beautiful truth rarely find it except in the valley of deep pain. Van Gogh, Dickenson, Hemingway. Is it that those on the trail of truth are drawn into the valley? Or is it that those with the most beautiful souls scream out with beautiful protests against the ugliness that surrounds them? Beautiful screams, in nights of despair While ugliness dreams, with hardly a care Breeding with light, engulfing with pain The dark of the night, now tortures the sane Muffling the cries, with an ironclad hand The darkness can rise, to conquer the land With no hope in sight, they swallow their dreams In the depths of the night, come beautiful screams Van Gogh's painting on the wall, rising, is symbolic of the point between the earth and the heavens where the souls of the artists and the eyes of the living meet in beautiful union. It is the connection of the two, urging the lower souls upward, appealing to their growing senses with beautiful truth. But is the creation actually meant to rise further, to join its beloved, or is it stalled, torn between two plains of existence? Does creation itself have something further to create, to inspire on this plane? Is there a circuitous, evolutionary necessity to it all?
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