Madness

Feeling at odds with the world?
Ever thought of letters to capture the mood you’re in?
Are you eloquent in the expression of unspoken word?
Bright sparks in that dank inn?
The one you call your mind?
Does the beauty of your body send you into throes of ecstasy?
A dopamine rush perhaps?
You looking for perfection?
Music made by a deaf man.
Flowery words of love crawling across pages not yellowed by centuries?
Looking for a high in a high?
Reading between lines and under them,
Searching for improbable meanings?
Are you still full of wonder over the slamming of the door,
Even though they slam the door?
Just because “you think like a child”?
Do you feel morose and unhappy?
Ready to engage the unnatural?
Perhaps slash off an ear?
Or liaise with nubile young women?
Beautiful as the islands they were born on?
Ever had the urge to decorate a church with nudes?
Carefully carved and wonderfully made?
Blasphemous right?
Feeling at odds with the world?
Ever thought of writing to capture the mood you’re in?
Are you eloquent in the expression of unspoken word?
Bright sparks in that dank inn?
The one you call your mind?
Where the bottom of the bottle drips,
And you’re crippled by the mundaneness of growing up which so excites the world?
Do you think you’re becoming a maniac?
Obsessed with eccentricities that only you can see?
If so then yes!
You’re on the SS Looney,
Where everyone is a bedlamite,
VVG and PC and WS and KC,
Initials for those who’s insanity reached out to you across choppy seas and moody weather.
I know,
I know,
They’ll never understand why,
They hate to love you,
They love to hate you.
Disambiguation?
The ones you love will kill you.
Madness?
This is art!

© Sena Frost 2015

Advertisements

Gentile Sinner

I was there,
And I was nought.
The night the elder son lost his birthright,
Esau for a plate of stew.
I was there,
And I was nought,
When his ligaments were broken,
His lungs perforated,
Even as he was a corpse.
I was there,
And I was nought,
As he showed Caesar’s face,
And lived with a law.
I was there,
And I was nought,
As he hung from a tree,
A man.
I was there,
And I was nought,
As the righteous condemned him to die.
For the sake of a dead empire.
But he lives.
In me and in you,
And at my darkest,
He loves me.
You see,
I am a gentile,
Feeding off the scraps the children refused to eat.
I am the lowest,
A sinner,
Farthest removed from creation.
And that,
Mustard in me,
Holds a mighty giant.
He raises me,
To sit by his side,
And dine with him.
Body and blood.
That I may know the way,
That is him,
Jesus.

© Sena Frost 2015