What is this madness poet’s seek,
That I should be, willing to speak,
From rooftops or a tower tall,
I hasten, for I dare not fall,
Into a fog or bleak abyss,
Where I shall feel an angel’s kiss,
That lifts my soul and spirit high,
So I can spread my wings and fly.

What is this sorrow poet’s write,
Beneath a dark and sullen night,
Of stormy heart and dreary mind,
And melancholy so inclined,
It touches festered wounds en masse,
That hide within a deep crevasse,
The silence holding deafened cries,
Averting life through sodden eyes.

What is this anguish poet’s bleed,
Evolving at outrageous speed,
A mixture of the here and now,
Transformed by convoluted vow,
All hailed by struggle, tos and fros,
Still stuck, until the movement grows,
And sheds new hope upon the plight,
Of souls that ravage in the night.

What is this boldness poet’s yield,
That I might abdicate my shield,
And throw all caution to the wind,
To battles waged and voices sinned,
But there is mystery I’m told,
Let every nook and crease unfold,
To spread your story far and wide,
Unto the corners which we hide.

What is this nonsense poet’s spew,
Whilst manic pages write anew,
Through ridges of a furrowed brow,
I cannot fathom why nor how,
But writing calls for mad decline,
And words reveal an ancient rhyme,
Not always in a choice of stead,
These words placate the wounds I’ve bled.

What is this candor poet’s raise,
A simple truth amongst the haze,
Of lies and unrelenting scorn,
Through tragedy a hero born,
To save the souls of dreadful past,
Enlightened by their minds aghast,
And tempered by the wisdom sort,
So hearts may rest from struggles fought.

What is this madness poet’s seek,
And should I now be drawn to speak,
That manic highs and bitter lows,
Are fuel to navigate my prose,
And bring me to a state of now,
So I may learn the truth somehow,
And right the wrongs of past refrain,
To soothe the madness of my brain.

© The Complicated Bunny – 05 May 2021

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