When I was in Unit Five we had the cage
Unit Three had none but had a black tar yard
Some were filled with sadness others filled with rage
All of it was madness (all of it was hard)
And my roommate was an angry amputee
In piss-soaked Unit Five where his screaming voice
Raged against the severed loss of his body
(I didn't want to meet him but had no choice)
In Unit Three I was with two quite quiet
And rather confused men who understood me
They liked to observe but avoid each riot
Becoming statisticians of lunacy
And though we were all sedated as zombies
(Or maybe because of that) there was trouble:
I had never seen such anger as in these
Broken ones each in their own fresh (popped) bubble
Impotent rage of broken futility
Struggling against the smugness of our masters
Led to some interpersonal disasters
But I met a girl there who remembers me
Just two crazy people in love you might say
And there was a lot of just that sort of thing
In that lockdown psychward awkward sort of way
As the thing that took away that sort of sting
Of realizing madness once (and for all?)
The only way is up from that sort of fall
But I'll be taking these madhouse memories
Wherever I'm going till when I'll be where
I find happiness (then: I'll call her from there)
Steve, quite a jolt, reminding me of the severeal times my dad was drying out. In California, years ago, when alcoholics were trying to get sober, they would be placed in "Mental Hospitals" and everyone lived together. It was a mess! Nice write.
Perhaps "..Quiet Storm" will help rekindle old flames buried and long forgotten or express the love so deeply locked inside of your soul longing to be released.
Regardless of where you may be found in love this beautiful masterpiece can be
From the author of Jupiter Remembered and Until It’s Time: Embracing Life In Our Later Years comes Petals of Love: Poetry of a Woman’s Soul – a heartfelt collection spanning more than thirty-five years. Through tender reflections, these poems offer g
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Cheers,
Dan