“sunflowers and soup” rain does not touch these blooms dried brightly, yet somehow sad deprived of sun within hallowed walls beneath thin glass that sunless shines only with the flash of a bulb their Warhol-esque protest a mockery of his work to bring a bit of beauty into this broken world. Gauguin would have been appalled a century and more the oil- based hues have blossomed, brightly drooped within their mustard-colored vase dark orbs studying what lies below the sturdy wooden frame, unblinking green lashes fringe each full round iris. they embody both light and dark, caught sunlight subdued by brush an artist’s call: to make the world more appealing or tell the truth of existence despite its tragedy, to capture its pleasure and pain all within a simple wood frame what do those dark orbs see of humanity’s darker corners? two young girls wasting soup in a world starved for understanding #
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