Saturday, June 1, 2013

Symptoms of a Madman

Describe for me your symptoms sir,
Lest I should not for you procure
A healing for your malady
And you should for some reason blame me.
My words are haltering I said,
I'm stuck inside my  little head.
My limbs are numb and in a haze
While eyes rove in an angry gaze.
My tongue tastes only bitterness,
While sweets are sweet but give no bliss
My ears hear no melodies
But only noise that makes me freeze.
I'm tired all around and whats more,
Other's company I do abhor!
Yet in the silence I beg for they
In whose company I become dull and gray,
And so my life appears black and white;
For in silence I hold my tongue in fear and fright
Lest what I say should be my death,
And so I hold at times my breath.
I know not what this plague may be,
But from time to time I cry mercy!
For in the depths of my heart comes  a stir
When working for others, and I hear a sure
Sound from the recess of my mind
That speaks softly. Gentle and kind
Is his voice, for it is a he I believe,
And to the point he drives. A reprieve
He gives by telling me of his love
For me, a sinner, and the sky above
Grows bright with a ray of hope,
While I am barely able to cope; 
For I, to tears am driven when
I hear him calling, and am stricken
Dumb with disbelieve and dismay
As if I were to dubious to say
There was any truth or faith in he
Who spoke from the heart and is dearest to me.
These are my symptoms if you must know.
Give me now the cure, and I will go.
But the doctor smiled at me with pleasant eyes,
T'was a smile enough to make me despise
His gentle frame and white gray beard;
For from his gaze my heart was seared.
He took in hand a small white ball,
And tossed it to me where I stood. Withal
Dumbfoundedness I caught it where
It landed in my hands most bare;
Yet I did not understand what he
Had done for his patient, had done for me.
If you care to know what you must do,
Look into the ball and ask what is true?
But if you are not prepared to see
The truth revealed by eternity,
Then best you give it back again
Lest truth should drive you to a fen.
My eyes stood stock still, I dared not look!
Yet the ball stood in my hands like a book,
And had I but an ounce of courage
I'd have eaten of truth as if it were porage.
But truth is more powerful than a bomb,
It's power strips us of more than flesh.
Truth is a power known to alarm,
And does not our hearts with pain enmesh.
But painfully we take the truth,
For we may not it bear at first.
We stand far off from it, aloof,
While yet we stand outside in thirst
As if from a desert we were traipsing in  
To discover sand pouring from the faucets.
For while we stew within our sin
Truth is forgot while we hide in closets.
Stop hiding in your head dear lad,
He said from somewhere in the haze,
Come back from thought, tis not so bad,
And I stared him down with such a gaze
That I did think he must surely die;
For that was how I felt, though I know not why.
Then holding his gaze in mine,
Or was it the other way around?
I took the plunge, the leap of faith,
And craned my neck to look on down.
Now time and space are silent
As truth begins to speak from within,
And all one's energy is bent
Towards focusing the man within
On what is said to be the cure
To what causes pain and grief.

                      Symptoms of a Madman, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2013

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