The sky so clear
The trees stay still
The wind so dear
Makes men want to ****

It's not jealousy or hatred
Nor it's for power or stature
It's love that we all catered
Without it, insanity lure...

I did not taste sweet sanity
Until I went insane!

The Darkness is where he will lay.
With many stories of man and many tales of Women.
The darkness consuming the his mind and making sanity scarce.

there is
a hole
a space
an empty bracket
in me
waiting patiently
to be filled
like a junkyard
a ***** bottle
a sanitarium
a minute
after the minute
you read this
on every clock
and once it is filled
with all the particles
needed
I will rise
like a tiger
released from its cage
like a thunder
freed off the cloud
I won't even care
about the universe
because I decide how
the stars, the rocks
out of the black hole
collide and erupt
and nobody can
stop me from
breaking the lines
crashing the minds
of the constellation
to seek
something out of it
as it is just
a mere sign
that I looked
in solitude and
compassion.

There is a hole
that is
waiting patiently to be
filled in me,
there is.

Mirrors will never forget
The names I've called
And the fates I've met
From crying by myself.
I really don't know
What has become of me
Bloodshot eyes and deafening cries
And I scream and I scream again
Until long,
Nothing is left of my sanity
And I call your name once more.

No matter how hard you’ve tried, their spells have been cast.
Now you fear only of the future, present, and past.
The glass has shattered, the sidewalks have cracked, the room painted white for insane.
The lights are dimming and the promises burning, in a picture perfect frame.
Whispers of the wind telling you their secrets of the night.
The reflection you see in the water, becomes a monstrous sight.
They make you crazy, sanity has left, your mind you begin to loose.
Eternity lasts forever, but a life like this, your fate is yours to choose.
Forming a masterpiece of who you were and who you have become.
These voices inside your head, try to figure out where they come from.
A corpse wearing the scent of death, it’s just a twisted lie.
And that flower that almost bloomed, slowly fades and dies.
A limitation to perfection can only be pushed within the lines.
Roses are sweet, but your caught within the thorns and vines.
Struggling for freedom but held back by your own creation.
Your beauty only outside, and that of fake presentation.
Sticks and stones have broken my bones, try to run and hide.
Nothing can help you now, you are forever lost in your mind.
Reaching out to grab for something that is not even true.
They keep on telling you what you can and can not do.
The taste of copper filling your mouth, crimson running down your face.
From your eyes and from your pores, the illusions you can not erase.
The screams you cry get louder and louder, but you can not hear your voice.
The things you see, and the things you hear and not at all by choice.
Waking up in the padded cell, the straight jacket keeping you restrained.
All the voices in your head, along with all the images remain.
You’re one of them, they’re all around, fighting to be sane.
But now that you have joined that path, you are no longer humane.

Sad eyed men, inebriated by pain, unshaven
eyes swollen, red faced, sleepless at night
loneliness perpetual  haunting them like
the ghosts of days dead, in single minded pursuit
perturbed by pains of every imaginable kind
in a devine trance one with dark frightening silence
pouring out their heart in blood dripping details,
tears mingle with words' firepower,molten lava gushes

A fiery woman, though,weak,meek and looks frail,
writes in a fierce frenzy,as if it's her life or death game
there are nail marks all over her emaciated body
as if a famished tiger has badly mauled her.
No trainer of beasts she ever was....
All the living witnesses, her suffering,festering wounds,
a derailed mind,her companion,once in insane anger gifted!

See weeping woman,men in anguish
in the fear of losing long cherished love,  
poring out the lava of fear,anguish and pain,
Wounded men and women with an orchestral precision
write seeking happiness,but in words couched in pain.
And then there is this one;eyes fixed at the  moon,
getting his fix for the day and the fuel for poetic pen!

All of them poets were in a world each of their own.
"Not sane or insane,wildly ecstatic, still in inescapable pain"
the caresses of poetry's fingers result in that,
And look those children running after butterflies!
poems, they would be thinking are colorful wings and feathers.
song,dance,mirth and celebration, alas! it isn't!