(altered illustration d. demske)
WORDS TO LIVE BY
The fallen angel of eternal sadness
unhinges the spring of internal madness-
like Moses abusing snakes for soothsayers.
The broken man bleeds his last bitter prayers.
Like father, no Father to answer his pleas,
In the flesh-wall’d temple he carves fresh blasphemies.
Tru-Servant whose art decorates only the landfill,
Over-drawn, he can’t afford both food and more Paxil.
Sev’rance- last thing he draws after years in the mud,
until using a fine point he draws his own blood
to still the mad thoughts, while his body paces
burning up energy as his mind- frozen, races.
Exhausted from working the 12 steps, he rants,
Using self-help books now just to hold up his pants.
Alive through his own effort from the past twenty years,
he fears deaf, blind, dumb doctors and government gears.
Force-fed drugs for disabled whose lives are a wreck
to slow down his head and save his own neck…
Literally enough to make a man fly
-He flies alright, with a savage cry-
Into a demonic rage, flinging chairs-
three legs down- three more still upstairs.
“…Like a psychotic hopping toad!” he screams
-the stuff of Freddy Krueger’s dreams.
Ungrateful bastard, forsaken son
whose silent father supplies the gun-
and Mother dear to her lifelong credit
says, “Put the gun in your mouth- when you aim at the head it
makes it so hard on me to scrub down your mess
and I’m NOT wiping up kids in my Sunday-best dress.”
Seconds before the hour is too late
Resisting destruction, he wills to create.
Battling demons from Hell and mem’ries immense
He jumps to the future, facing the present- tense.
Asked, “Is the fight worth it?”
He would have to say,
but to choose suicide- you must still possess hope.”