Inspiration Asylum
Odd how the course of the evening dips
With keys pressed clean to my fingertips
And out of this madhouse, my memory slips,
Though too soft to fall off of my frozen lips
Through a garden of torment, restoration awaits,
Locked out of sight behind wrought iron gates,
Sealed in steel boxes and dense wooden crates,
Held at bay to the faith of its docile inmates
But the ticking of timepieces cracks through the walls,
Echoing dimly through dark, empty halls,
Following, blind, where my sanity falls
When my heart finally stutters and stalls
Into the night, where my words plunge ahead,
Caring not what I thought or I meant to be said,
I leave my prone body left-for-dead
And pour forth these fresh seeds from my head
(2012)
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