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michael-hatfieldPoems
My mind wanders continuously                  To and from the hear and now Seemingly   I don’t pay attention to what you say     Not true        I do, in a way But thank you for talking at me   When you thought I couldn’t hear           Because the rhythm of your psychoses wears upon my soul Weathering me Not like the sapphire waves beating on a jagged coastline wearing a mighty cliff into the humblest grain of sand Or anything quite that dramatic                     More like the way subtle occurrences can effect ones perception so powerfully And while I’m floating along   From one island of idea to another      I’m tethered to reality         By the ironic lifeline of your madness.
0
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 1:51 AM UTC
Your dementia, which holds me.
My mind wanders continuously                  To and from the hear and now Seemingly   I don’t pay attention to what you say     Not true        I do, in a way But thank you for talking at me   When you thought I couldn’t hear           Because the rhythm of your psychoses wears upon my soul Weathering me Not like the sapphire waves beating on a jagged coastline wearing a mighty cliff into the humblest grain of sand Or anything quite that dramatic                     More like the way subtle occurrences can effect ones perception so powerfully And while I’m floating along   From one island of idea to another      I’m tethered to reality         By the ironic lifeline of your madness.
Written by
michael-hatfield
American
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 1:51 AM UTC
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