Scattered mind flying high,
Giving birth to ten more world-solving notions...
Like going on missions to foreign lands,
Healing the sick, giving out potions

My mind, embedded near gyrus and sulcus, knows no rest
The best ideas barge forth, within them come serious tests
  
Haunted, undone, one thought forms another
And another and another, above and beyond
I wish I could gaze into a crystal ball
Or wave it all away with a magic wand

Yet they're trapped, the thoughts fight each other with fervor
None of them ever wins because there's truth to every 'fever'

I know little slumber, its consequences given me to reap
I cannot sleep, I have no strength to weep
So disorderly I climb the steep dune
Sit atop and let go, and become immune

To what do I warrant such delightful diversion,
Enormity arousing enchanting excursions,
Bourn on adventure trudging into the night
An avalanche of answers for each weak 'goodnight'

The theory behind the presumption
An outline forms consumption
And consumes what? A faded thought that fails its test?
Only to leave hundreds more revelations? No rest!

The war rages within and is only consoled with more battle
I turn my head to respond and I hear an invisible rattle

A cannon resounds a magnificent clamor
And in genius there is found no candid glamour
The price is extraordinary, tormenting, fermenting
My soul takes toll of the mind's whirred lamenting

The motor consistently constantly churns
And within my being a fire lasciviously burns
Creativity is born on many a morn
When the moon moves so many amore

My meaning lies moaning not within lovers' arms
The link of such depth, no thwarting ensues
And I, sadly cannot pick up on the cues
And hour by hour I pay my dark dues

For possessing a disorderly knowledge beyond the mundane
At times I have no respect for ignorance, and then I refrain

From retorting what seems to be sheer morbid stupidity
I then realize that the unaware have more rest
I am a constant prisoner to my own uncontrolled lucidity
Transcendence is put upon my sad heart to test

And failure engulfs, suspicion again born
Trusting, untrusting, entrusting again
Paranoia peeks its head above a curtain irreparably torn
For the ten hundredth time my aura's adorned

And even if rain was painted bright colors
It wouldn't cling to the cloth absorbing herewith
For madness knows no such thing as height or width
It splatters on the gift, not a bubbling brook
But in sinister alleys intertwining the nooks
  
On a hard ridge it washes up, smacks hard against boulders
How could anyone see, no matter how big the shoulders
The raging, enraging, the madness of me
Unending sadness enshrouds, any gladness does flee
  
And nothing could have ever prepared me for this…….
The churning and burning and turnings amiss
Few attain such enlightenment, wisdom embedded with nails
To hell one must go to stand upon the high trail


Though nails now roses, its hilarity rests in what it imposes
The madness with sadness, humor to darkness transposes

And that is no gift, or is it? Annoyance
Pervades me incessantly.  I harbor clairvoyance
Extrasensory perception, the mind's grand deception?
In visions come to pass, messages impasse protection

And I in a world I barely understand
But there I take root and thusly extend my hands
To a world I hideously, abhorrently reprimand
Its normalcy thrives on an uncaring and desolate land.
Of which I want no part…..

It's within me to embark on a new beginning
For nothing will stop my thoughts from spinning
There is little that encourages sanity for winning

I rev up my engines, my spirit the pilot
And resign myself to the insidious riot


Lynn Goldner Spear

Here comes the drum of the unconsumed
through mountains churning under burning moon
from the open eye of a sky attuned
to the stars in the mind of a magical loon

He sings to the rain; it’s said he’s rot in the brain,
but the madman sees what the people flee;
sees the thrum of the pulse of the ancient trees
through the veins where the life flows of each lived thing

Cast their pain to the wind and he breathes it in
and it drips from his tongue, and the earth drinks sin
but the stars in his heart sparkle out from within, 

cause the madman transposes chagrin

In the haste of a world that unfurls by the sun
neath the moon of the loon is the veil undone
as he watches the stars turn an hour a tick
by the fire whence transpires, his an endless wick

So, tho judge ye will, he cannot be killed
for he’s traced all space with delightful trill
tho an empty man, he has had his fill
for the madman belongs to the moon