Is poetry written by madmen?

The maddest

of the maddest

surround us

with

books and pens

not sharp

bloody knives

like

cutting

poetry

sliced

poems

and wicked

prose

stacked up high

against the wall of

metaphorical delights

alphabetically right

morally tight

you might ask

when we smell

a rose

with our weary nose

it is in fact a rose

because we think it

smells like one?

instead, we

cast off the dusty covers

and fluff our hairdo’s

wondering out loud

is poetry written by madmen?

sure!

they are resting

on the edge of oblivion

ready to slip off

falling to their death

on the rocks and sand below!

I say it keeps good hearted men sane

as he has the outright gall to stroke his werewolf mane!

tied to heartfelt strings of his

slippery

human brain

full of

syntax

sweet grammar

color

and

cues

we the people

of the quick mind’s eye

lead with uncovered

hues of

daintiness

shouting

oh, farewell!

to

the senses

hello to

rhyme and reason!

breaking down culture

and tall fences!

give up words

you thought

were so precious

mister

they

were never yours

to begin with

keep them gathered

up in your trembling arms

like the heathens

in a foreign tongue

who keep slipping heartedly

through your rusted

prison

bars

evermore

turning silent

as the letters

numbers

and crooked

vowels

walk where they will

under your cities lit

lanterns in their dark

cobble stoned streets

wandering around

aimlessly

when we

are gone

so that

all that remains

is a single book

a folded wine stained page

underlined phrase

it be I

I was the one

yes, you were looking

for me

the hidden one

this madman

someone’s son

answering to none

for no other reason

than because he can

who because of

the bane of poetry

stays sane

I see who you are

but you haven’t seen

me

driving my fancy car

hitting every bar

sipping tea

so regretfully

but

you haven’t heard

me loud and clear

between the pages

haven’t you?

fear not

there is more

or less

a given thing

around the corner

looking like a misfit

behaving like a jester

eating like a king

counting all his money

finally realizing he must

at all costs

let all his mistaken

beliefs go

because everything he

learned about how the

world worked was

totally wrong

he will

before long

become truly

insane

desolated

and

resolutely

tame

casting off

those same

dark nasty

thoughts

clinging

and

feign

so you keep asking me

is poetry written by madmen?

I cannot say

until my mind is right

that I will persist

I will have to get back to you

someday

yes

someday…

when I become

more

and more

and more

prolific

 

 

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About Steven Humphreys

I live in sunny California with my beautiful wife, three wonderful cats and very handsome dog! I write a lot these days about different subjects I hope you will find interesting and informative. Thanks for your interest. Read more 'about me' on this site. Thanks for visiting!
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