The Joy of Madness

Poetry

Magician

He says the snow globe
made him feel like a magician.
But I feel he lives within the glass dome
where he creates his own magic
and I am chipping away at the galaxy
of his planet;
unable to make contact
like a poor person
who admires the Christmas gifts at Macy's
from the sidewalk window;
beginning to understand
that there will be no gifts this year.
He likes to juggle oranges like a clown
but internally he struggles
to hide his fear
and looking at him
I see me
fourteen years ago
as I broke,
spiralling and crashing.
I want to warn him
to take a different path;
but this is beyond our control.
So I release the notion to protect
as I eject away
from his magic.

This Burka

A spiderweb
hangs about me
like a fish net
used to tame a shark
It slows me down
and makes life blurry.
I am trapped for life
by laws
not imposed upon
the ordinary citizen.

I swallow tiny pills all day
or I risk the penalty
of a locked ward
with predators
and scary nurses
with long hypodermics.

These pills protect society;
(they don't fool me)
but I know of their toxicity.
They prefer a slow execution over
a quick suicide.

Posted by Butterfly Emerging at May 9, 2006 09:38 PM