Poem from the Asylum~no.one

12 May 2k9

4 West pt. i

We are the Hallway People—
Shuffling aimless…discordant, dissonant
Flinching at the slightest touch of any stranger.
In vain, we try to decide whether
Our rooms are a sanctuary or cell:

A less than empty space
Too quiet not to be lonely
Inhabited by souls too burdened
Not to be somewhat mad…

We are the Hallway People—
Saying little, yet broadcasting much
Into air thick already with fear
And a smog of illness, but tinged with twilight hope.

When confronted, our gaze retreats,
Or lashes in sudden, defensive vehemence.
We are manimals, trapped in a fetid braincage,
Haunted by the knowledge that we squirm
In the cage by the working of our own minds:

Castles in the darkness we build
Of despair, a fortress high
Of joyous mania, spires twinkling bright…

We are the Hallway People—
Who sing a lament of the fractured mind.
Arias to love lost, and relentless, tock-ticking time;
The broken life…once so safe, so secure,
Become now a webwork of cracks and missing pieces:

A wisp of spider silk tangled in a branch
A child’s toy tossed aside…

We are the Hallway People—
Who have grown into riddles of ourselves.
We are puzzles without defined borders;
With no more than sharp edges to cling to,
Nor similitudes to find solace within.

~D.C. McKenzie

Cognitive Dissonance

~*~

—end transmission—