Sunday, April 7, 2013

The Thorns of Truth

Tirelessly, the moths of Paranoia nibble
On the wrinkled cloth of your mind
Ravenous rodents incessantly biting
Severing the ties that bind

Pervasively, the clamor of silence
Descends on your question of reason
The ultimate predator of logic awaits
Reality is always in season

Lost on the cacti lined streets of sanity
You begin incandescently screaming
You've pricked your finger on the thorns of truth
And the blood of dashed hopes came streaming

As the serpentine tongue of insanity
Probes the cavern of dreams you've designed
The tattered seams of a shattered heart
Weep openly at kindness maligned

Caressing your spine, the blade of desire
Compels you through the battlefield of chance
While natures orchestra inaudibly plays
You continue to urgently dance.

(A poem about how love, and particularly love lost, can make you feel crazy. Yet we keep trying.)

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