In A Schizophrenic World - Poem
A brilliant mind going out of his mind
Or so the neighbors say.
Up all night scribbling on the walls.
Sometimes he just paints.
He creates pictures of pain
And equations we cannot understand.
Poems and songs are all over the hall.
The floor and ceiling are fare game for him to draw upon.
Does he take time to eat?
No one can say.
He rarely comes out.
Very few are allowed in.
This is his sanctuary with black out curtains, foil wrapped windows and
fly strips hanging down.
He has even painted the fly strips between folding newspaper sculpture.
Do not interrupt by stopping to say hi.
You might break his brilliant thought.
He is always on the verge of a breakthrough.
His pencils are always nearby.
He paints of Japan and people long dead
And monsters with knives under the bed.
There are no doors in his home except
The one at the front to keep everyone out and
The one on the fridge to keep everything in.
The bathtub looks dirty.
But take a closer look.
It is another easel
For his unbelievable work.
He has to create.
He has to get it out,
All of these thoughts jumbled in his head.
Somehow he hopes if he continues this plan
Showing no doubt,
These voices will leave and finally get out.
He is driven to create.
He has to draw, write, and paint.
It is all part of the scheme to
Follow the voices
Doing whatever they say.
He wants to please them
So they will decide not to stay.
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