Thursday, 1 December 2011

A Poet Is Born Not Mad(e)

I AM echoing in the indifferent air,
Clare rose from his maddened fog
and must have wept to see the mirror.

How long would it be before he was
To be toss'd into nothingness once more,
The cloud smothering him in his shroud?

What is worse, The tragedy of insanity:
Hos life's slow swirl into the maelstrom-
The bare knuclked fight into oblivion;

Or wretchedly waking to watch the vast
Ship of his hopes woefully wrecked
Against the rocks of his past?