Reflections of a Pisces

Poem of the Sane

The thundering beat of the

drums liberate me

from the struggles of the place

we name life.

Rumbling tearfully,

mercifully,

we stand on the dock of nothing

as clouds race by us

without a second thought of

sweet, sweet liberation

from the monotonous movement.

Cycles, round, circle, loop.

What about squares, diamonds, octagons, squiggles?

I can't hear, can't breathe, can't see

past my own imagination.

Filled with passion and excitement

as I tippity-tap-tap-whoosh my way through this eclectic poem.

Eccentric, pedantic. Call me Ishmael if you want. The voices in my mind

are a buzz, a roar, a squeak maybe.

Shriek! A spider!

Takes me two hours to kill

it, to be brave.

Two minutes to stare, and be mesmerized.

Two seconds to realize maybe

I'm not alone.

Tingling, smack!

Bam! Time is up.

The curtain closes,

the ringmaster says goodbye.

Fireworks, confetti, all turn to dust.

All there is left,

is that corner with dust,

and there I sit

as my limbs turn to rust.

Rust, bust, trust.

Must I fuss?

Haha, I may combust

from my madness one day,

but at least I experience it

every single day.