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This poem ©me. Any questions regarding copyright should be posted to this diary.
Sick in the MindI want to be sick in the mind
Just like all the greats.
I want to be overcome with craziness
From my mind.
I want it to fill the paper completely,
Not the kind of madness that will cause
But one that will explode from within,
Making the everyday into the extraordinary.
Comes from it, creation comes from it,
The illness that eventually takes them.
If the product enhances the lives
And contributes to the beautiful landscape
Of this world.
Without the great poets past, present, and future
What would life be?
Of course, you say, with them the question
But without them, unexplored,
Is the wonder and inspiration
And exhileration and complication and sadness
Of the experiences that are our lives.
I want to be sick and deranged,
Beyond any belief or blame.
Do not pity!
That is not what I ask or
Simply read, understand, enjoy,
Anything is the purpose of a poet.
Indeed, your thoughts and comments must be forthcoming.
The madness would snatch those affected otherwise.
Perhaps some merely want sympathetic companionship.
Hidden within us until a tug from without.
Are the results of poetry.
Make me sick
And I will ennumerate them all.
Will rush, bend, twist and create.
With the dazzling brilliance of thought
Until no one
Can question its worth.