Observations in Verse
Index and First Lines (please scroll down for poems in the following order.)
Heeding the Broken Heart (I'm a mental health survivor, relieved ex-service user......)
The Secret Art (There's a very special secret that should be common knowledge.....)
Emptying Nest (My youngest child, my baby, is leaving home today, ......)
Pull Your Socks Up! (You need to pull your socks up. Don't be silly. Get a grip!.......)
Paradox (Why shouldn't I suffer a mental health issue? The world that I live in is mad!.......)
Heeding the Broken Heart
I’m a mental health survivor.
Relieved ex-service user.
A graduate of the loony bin.
A mollified medusa.
I look like any wife and mum; short and a bit too wide.
See, we ex-loonies don’t have scars that show on the outside.
But the lines that criss-cross on my heart
Are formed of best scar tissue.
There’s one for every loss, for every devastating issue.
There’s more for the self-loathing
I piled upon the top.
Those multiplied the fastest,
Til I learned I had to stop;
That finding some compassion for the poor, mistreated thing
Was the one most clear and certain way to help my mute heart sing.
There was a time I thought that I would never feel alive.
When, far from living to the full, I barely could survive.
Then I considered suicide a tantalising offer
But just in time life sprang up with a better deal to proffer.
It showed me in that instant that the only way is through.
That I had to grit my teeth and try a method hard and new.
So I turned my scant attention to the inside for a start
And began to get acquainted with my poor old broken heart.
A broken heart’s a funny thing. You think it’s smashed to pieces
But something magic happens when you heed it - it releases
A lifetime’s worth of pain and doubt, a shedload of bad feeling.
When you pay it some attention that’s the thing that starts it healing.
It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s simple, but not easy.
You don’t just press a button and start feeling bright and breezy.
But eventually you notice, for the briefest millisecond,
That you feel a lighter feeling than you ever really reckoned
You might feel, and then you doubt yourself, but then, another day,
You find that feeling’s there again and doesn’t go away
so soon this time, and while you might still mostly fret and mope,
There’s a bright new stranger on the block; a stranger name of Hope.
Hope is a thing that lifts you; lets you see a better view.
Hope whispers tiny promises of gifts that wait for you.
It doesn’t tell you what they are exactly, but it teases
With a glimpse of sparkle here and there; a fluttering that pleases.
You sense something is changing, and that can seem quite scary
But hope takes you by the hand and leads you, tentative and wary,
Towards the future. It’s OK. Just go at your own pace
And ask for help along the way from allies of good grace.
You’ll see that these will find you if you’re brave enough to call.
They may be human beings, or creatures, large or small.
They may appear in dreams, and then remain as just a feeling:
Something you can’t quite recall that helps you with your healing.
If you can just surrender when there’s nothing much to lose,
You might well find a whole new box of sculpting tools to use.
Then you can start, with trembling hands, to forge a newer version
Of the You you really want to be; an ex-unhappy person.
And all the time be mindful of the tracks across your heart,
Which may smart now and then as you pursue your brave new start.
For the miracle that happens as you toil with such fine grace is
Your heart will grow the strongest in the most scarred, broken places.
And now there comes the secret that not many people know;
That those of us who’ve suffered most are most equipped to grow.
Those who have been to hell, and found their way back to the earth
Are the ones with the potential for the most profound rebirth.
Your mind may try to tell you this is all just tricks and traps.
Your mind is looking out for you; it’s scared for you, perhaps.
If you’ve known disappointments and trusting isn’t easy,
You’re bound to have misgivings; to feel tremulous and queasy.
But just keep taking one small step, and then one small step more.
Stick closely to your allies just to keep your footing sure.
As days and weeks and months go by, and years eventually,
You may find yourself becoming the You you want to be.
Remember every now and then to check your mending heart;
That unique and tender scarring that’s your greatest work of art.
Just feel the love it has for you and for the world around you
Wear its wisdom like a talisman and magic will surround you.
Be certain to hold on to Hope and follow in its wake;
Life yields new gifts to those whose hearts were strong enough to break.
A paradox that’s puzzling, but please do be assured
That the heart that’s borne most suffering can bring the most reward.
I’m a mental health survivor.
Relieved ex-service user.
A graduate of the loony bin.
A mollified medusa.
I look like any wife and mum; short and a bit too wide.
See, we ex-loonies don’t have scars that show on the outside.
But the lines that criss-cross on my heart
Are formed of best scar tissue.
There’s one for every loss, for every devastating issue.
There’s more for the self-loathing
I piled upon the top.
Those multiplied the fastest,
Til I learned I had to stop;
That finding some compassion for the poor, mistreated thing
Was the one most clear and certain way to help my mute heart sing.
There was a time I thought that I would never feel alive.
When, far from living to the full, I barely could survive.
Then I considered suicide a tantalising offer
But just in time life sprang up with a better deal to proffer.
It showed me in that instant that the only way is through.
That I had to grit my teeth and try a method hard and new.
So I turned my scant attention to the inside for a start
And began to get acquainted with my poor old broken heart.
A broken heart’s a funny thing. You think it’s smashed to pieces
But something magic happens when you heed it - it releases
A lifetime’s worth of pain and doubt, a shedload of bad feeling.
When you pay it some attention that’s the thing that starts it healing.
It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s simple, but not easy.
You don’t just press a button and start feeling bright and breezy.
But eventually you notice, for the briefest millisecond,
That you feel a lighter feeling than you ever really reckoned
You might feel, and then you doubt yourself, but then, another day,
You find that feeling’s there again and doesn’t go away
so soon this time, and while you might still mostly fret and mope,
There’s a bright new stranger on the block; a stranger name of Hope.
Hope is a thing that lifts you; lets you see a better view.
Hope whispers tiny promises of gifts that wait for you.
It doesn’t tell you what they are exactly, but it teases
With a glimpse of sparkle here and there; a fluttering that pleases.
You sense something is changing, and that can seem quite scary
But hope takes you by the hand and leads you, tentative and wary,
Towards the future. It’s OK. Just go at your own pace
And ask for help along the way from allies of good grace.
You’ll see that these will find you if you’re brave enough to call.
They may be human beings, or creatures, large or small.
They may appear in dreams, and then remain as just a feeling:
Something you can’t quite recall that helps you with your healing.
If you can just surrender when there’s nothing much to lose,
You might well find a whole new box of sculpting tools to use.
Then you can start, with trembling hands, to forge a newer version
Of the You you really want to be; an ex-unhappy person.
And all the time be mindful of the tracks across your heart,
Which may smart now and then as you pursue your brave new start.
For the miracle that happens as you toil with such fine grace is
Your heart will grow the strongest in the most scarred, broken places.
And now there comes the secret that not many people know;
That those of us who’ve suffered most are most equipped to grow.
Those who have been to hell, and found their way back to the earth
Are the ones with the potential for the most profound rebirth.
Your mind may try to tell you this is all just tricks and traps.
Your mind is looking out for you; it’s scared for you, perhaps.
If you’ve known disappointments and trusting isn’t easy,
You’re bound to have misgivings; to feel tremulous and queasy.
But just keep taking one small step, and then one small step more.
Stick closely to your allies just to keep your footing sure.
As days and weeks and months go by, and years eventually,
You may find yourself becoming the You you want to be.
Remember every now and then to check your mending heart;
That unique and tender scarring that’s your greatest work of art.
Just feel the love it has for you and for the world around you
Wear its wisdom like a talisman and magic will surround you.
Be certain to hold on to Hope and follow in its wake;
Life yields new gifts to those whose hearts were strong enough to break.
A paradox that’s puzzling, but please do be assured
That the heart that’s borne most suffering can bring the most reward.
The Secret Art
One of the most profound lessons I have learned, and one which came to me quite late in life, is the importance of compassion, service and giving in the development and maintenance of personal well-being.
A wise friend once told me that the most healing thing to do for myself when I was at my lowest was to reach out to someone else who was feeling low and ask them how they were and how I could help, thus moving away from my own despair for a time and contributing something of value - a gift to them but also an incredible gift to myself at a time when I felt I had nothing to offer.
Research shows that giving (not just money, but time and energy) is one of the best things we can do to improve our physical and mental health.
Of course it is essential to nurture self-compassion and ensure we meet our own needs, but often one of our most basic needs is to connect to others and contribute in whatever way we can. This poem celebrates that life-changing but oh-so-simple discovery.
The Secret Art
There’s a very special secret
That should be common knowledge
It isn’t rocket science
Or a fact you learn in college.
It’s the thing we all keep looking for
The thing that will provide
A warm fulfillment to replace
The emptiness inside.
It’s really very simple,
And that’s the cosmic joke;
We wonder what we need to get
In order to evoke
A feeling of belonging,
Relief within our heart;
What we don’t realise is
That if we want to play the part
Of bright, contented being
With a glorious life to live
The question's less what can we get;
Than what we have to give!
“What do I have to spare?” you cry
“I don’t have grand possessions
Or endless wealth, or power.”
No need for such confessions.
The treasures that will make you rich
Are all contained within
And if you’re feeling willing
And ready to begin,
You can start the process right away.
No need for preparation.
Your humble generosity
Will be your own salvation.
The treasures that are worth the most
Are not, as we’ve been told,
Antiques or artworks,
Fancy cars or objects made of gold.
They are not strings of diamonds
Or clothes of latest fashion
But love and kindness,
Empathy, acceptance and compassion.
Along with these come courtesy,
Respect and gentle grace
Tolerance, affection, an open, smiling face
And arms outstretched in greeting
No matter who you meet;
Your own well-being is defined
By how you learn to treat
Your fellow human beings,
And all of life on earth.
If you nurture your compassion
You will never find a dearth
Of satisfaction in your life.
You’ll find it full instead
Of happiness and wonder
And you will want to spread
These ever-wider, knowing now
That sharing your resources
Will manifest great riches
And superhuman forces.
You may begin to realise
That now you’re more complete
You no longer think so much about
The needs you have to meet
In your own life. You’re happier
Because you have dismissed
The shallow thoughts that in your past
Comprised a surly list
Of wants and stark ambitions
To be the best and smartest.
Instead you’ve learned the art of love
And love that you’re an artist
Who paints your canvas wild and wide,
With vital, vibrant, hues;
The colours of the universe
Laid out for you to choose.
You know that you cannot return
To that world left behind,
And your gratitude is boundless
For the bounty that you find
In every waking moment
And in your dream-time too.
When compassion is your way of life,
Your life takes care of you.
One of the most profound lessons I have learned, and one which came to me quite late in life, is the importance of compassion, service and giving in the development and maintenance of personal well-being.
A wise friend once told me that the most healing thing to do for myself when I was at my lowest was to reach out to someone else who was feeling low and ask them how they were and how I could help, thus moving away from my own despair for a time and contributing something of value - a gift to them but also an incredible gift to myself at a time when I felt I had nothing to offer.
Research shows that giving (not just money, but time and energy) is one of the best things we can do to improve our physical and mental health.
Of course it is essential to nurture self-compassion and ensure we meet our own needs, but often one of our most basic needs is to connect to others and contribute in whatever way we can. This poem celebrates that life-changing but oh-so-simple discovery.
The Secret Art
There’s a very special secret
That should be common knowledge
It isn’t rocket science
Or a fact you learn in college.
It’s the thing we all keep looking for
The thing that will provide
A warm fulfillment to replace
The emptiness inside.
It’s really very simple,
And that’s the cosmic joke;
We wonder what we need to get
In order to evoke
A feeling of belonging,
Relief within our heart;
What we don’t realise is
That if we want to play the part
Of bright, contented being
With a glorious life to live
The question's less what can we get;
Than what we have to give!
“What do I have to spare?” you cry
“I don’t have grand possessions
Or endless wealth, or power.”
No need for such confessions.
The treasures that will make you rich
Are all contained within
And if you’re feeling willing
And ready to begin,
You can start the process right away.
No need for preparation.
Your humble generosity
Will be your own salvation.
The treasures that are worth the most
Are not, as we’ve been told,
Antiques or artworks,
Fancy cars or objects made of gold.
They are not strings of diamonds
Or clothes of latest fashion
But love and kindness,
Empathy, acceptance and compassion.
Along with these come courtesy,
Respect and gentle grace
Tolerance, affection, an open, smiling face
And arms outstretched in greeting
No matter who you meet;
Your own well-being is defined
By how you learn to treat
Your fellow human beings,
And all of life on earth.
If you nurture your compassion
You will never find a dearth
Of satisfaction in your life.
You’ll find it full instead
Of happiness and wonder
And you will want to spread
These ever-wider, knowing now
That sharing your resources
Will manifest great riches
And superhuman forces.
You may begin to realise
That now you’re more complete
You no longer think so much about
The needs you have to meet
In your own life. You’re happier
Because you have dismissed
The shallow thoughts that in your past
Comprised a surly list
Of wants and stark ambitions
To be the best and smartest.
Instead you’ve learned the art of love
And love that you’re an artist
Who paints your canvas wild and wide,
With vital, vibrant, hues;
The colours of the universe
Laid out for you to choose.
You know that you cannot return
To that world left behind,
And your gratitude is boundless
For the bounty that you find
In every waking moment
And in your dream-time too.
When compassion is your way of life,
Your life takes care of you.
Emptying Nest
My youngest child, my baby,
Is leaving home today
To start a new adventure
In a city far away.
I’ve watched this day approaching
And prepared as best I could
And I’ll go with her to her new home
And act the way I should.
I will not keen or beg her
With arms around her knees
To stay and not abandon me
I will not steal the keys
To her new place and super-glue
The locks so the replacement
Will not fit and I certainly
Won’t lock her in my basement
And say I don’t know where she is
And why she didn’t show
For her first important lecture
Do you think I’d do that? No!
I will be a nice, sane mother
And I’ll kiss her on the cheek
Then I’ll stumble through the doorway
And my eyes will start to leak.
Or ....
Perhaps I’ll try a different tack
Perhaps I’ll find it’s nice
When my tidy rooms stay tidy
And the shopping’s half the price.
Not being woken up at five
After the clubs have shut
Might be a thing I quite enjoy.
Of course I’ll miss her, but
I think I might get used to
A bit of peace and quiet
I’ve never been a hands-off mum,
Perhaps it’s time to try it!
I recall I used to wonder
When my friends bemoaned the fate
Of empty-nest depression
Why they got in such a state
But the change from being full-time mum
To ordinary being
After 30 years is daunting
And I find myself agreeing
That this is a rite of passage
That should not be taken lightly.
It requires some reflection,
And a box of chocolates nightly.
But there’s more than just a flicker
Of excitement as I think
Of the many new things I could do -
Like dye my hair bright pink.
I could go and have my nose pierced
Learn to kite-surf, start to jog,
I could dive for buried treasure
I could write a saucy blog;
Eat only ice cream for six weeks
Siesta every day
Buy lots of fabulous antiques
And give them all away.
I could take up bungee jumping
I could have a bold tattoo.
I could turn up at Heathrow and buy
A ticket to Peru
Or persuade my patient hubby
That we should move to Paris
And become a street performer
There’d be no-one to embarrass!
But the thing that is most likely
Is that I’ll go home and be
The latest version of myself;
The post-child-rearing me
With only grown-up children
Whom I love and still hold dear
Even though they may live far away
My heart will keep them near;
And I’ll feel my way in this next stage
And see what seems to fit
And if something grabs my fancy
I might have a go at it.
The time’s come to remember
The wings I hid away
In the chrysalis of motherhood
And this could be the day
To wriggle out of my cocoon;
To turn to face the sky
Then shake them out and show the world
How beautifully I'll fly!
My youngest child, my baby,
Is leaving home today
To start a new adventure
In a city far away.
I’ve watched this day approaching
And prepared as best I could
And I’ll go with her to her new home
And act the way I should.
I will not keen or beg her
With arms around her knees
To stay and not abandon me
I will not steal the keys
To her new place and super-glue
The locks so the replacement
Will not fit and I certainly
Won’t lock her in my basement
And say I don’t know where she is
And why she didn’t show
For her first important lecture
Do you think I’d do that? No!
I will be a nice, sane mother
And I’ll kiss her on the cheek
Then I’ll stumble through the doorway
And my eyes will start to leak.
Or ....
Perhaps I’ll try a different tack
Perhaps I’ll find it’s nice
When my tidy rooms stay tidy
And the shopping’s half the price.
Not being woken up at five
After the clubs have shut
Might be a thing I quite enjoy.
Of course I’ll miss her, but
I think I might get used to
A bit of peace and quiet
I’ve never been a hands-off mum,
Perhaps it’s time to try it!
I recall I used to wonder
When my friends bemoaned the fate
Of empty-nest depression
Why they got in such a state
But the change from being full-time mum
To ordinary being
After 30 years is daunting
And I find myself agreeing
That this is a rite of passage
That should not be taken lightly.
It requires some reflection,
And a box of chocolates nightly.
But there’s more than just a flicker
Of excitement as I think
Of the many new things I could do -
Like dye my hair bright pink.
I could go and have my nose pierced
Learn to kite-surf, start to jog,
I could dive for buried treasure
I could write a saucy blog;
Eat only ice cream for six weeks
Siesta every day
Buy lots of fabulous antiques
And give them all away.
I could take up bungee jumping
I could have a bold tattoo.
I could turn up at Heathrow and buy
A ticket to Peru
Or persuade my patient hubby
That we should move to Paris
And become a street performer
There’d be no-one to embarrass!
But the thing that is most likely
Is that I’ll go home and be
The latest version of myself;
The post-child-rearing me
With only grown-up children
Whom I love and still hold dear
Even though they may live far away
My heart will keep them near;
And I’ll feel my way in this next stage
And see what seems to fit
And if something grabs my fancy
I might have a go at it.
The time’s come to remember
The wings I hid away
In the chrysalis of motherhood
And this could be the day
To wriggle out of my cocoon;
To turn to face the sky
Then shake them out and show the world
How beautifully I'll fly!
When I was in the midst of my mental health crisis people often suggested that if I'd just get a grip, everything would be fine.
Now, why didn't I think of that?!
PULL YOUR SOCKS UP!
You need to pull your socks up.
Don’t be silly. Get a grip.
If you just find a good job
and a nice relationship
You’ll be OK. You’ll wonder why
You made all this great fuss.
You just need to pull your socks up
Be more like the rest of us.
I know you’re feeling gloomy
And you can’t quite face the future
But that’s because you haven’t found
The lifestyle to best suit ya.
If you pull yourself together
And try a little harder
You’ll be happier than Francis Drake
Defeating the Armada.
But you need to take your finger out.
Don’t wallow in self-pity.
Think positive and get involved
In all the nitty-gritty
Of adult life. You’re not a child.
So pull yourself together.
If you keep being negative
And courting stormy weather
You’ll never see the sunshine
Or live a normal life.
With a normal job and normal home
as a normal, healthy wife.
If you don’t pull your socks up
You’re never going to be
A nice, plain, normal person
Like nice, plain normal me!
So try to make an effort.
Don’t be silly. Get a grip.
Find a hobby. Join a book club.
Do a painting. Take a trip.
Stop bringing everybody down.
Your company’s depressing.
We’d like you so much more
If you were bright and effervescing.
Just pull yourself together.
You can manage it with ease.
And we’d all feel much more comfy.
If your socks stayed near your knees!
You need to pull your socks up.
Don’t be silly. Get a grip.
If you just find a good job
and a nice relationship
You’ll be OK. You’ll wonder why
You made all this great fuss.
You just need to pull your socks up
Be more like the rest of us.
I know you’re feeling gloomy
And you can’t quite face the future
But that’s because you haven’t found
The lifestyle to best suit ya.
If you pull yourself together
And try a little harder
You’ll be happier than Francis Drake
Defeating the Armada.
But you need to take your finger out.
Don’t wallow in self-pity.
Think positive and get involved
In all the nitty-gritty
Of adult life. You’re not a child.
So pull yourself together.
If you keep being negative
And courting stormy weather
You’ll never see the sunshine
Or live a normal life.
With a normal job and normal home
as a normal, healthy wife.
If you don’t pull your socks up
You’re never going to be
A nice, plain, normal person
Like nice, plain normal me!
So try to make an effort.
Don’t be silly. Get a grip.
Find a hobby. Join a book club.
Do a painting. Take a trip.
Stop bringing everybody down.
Your company’s depressing.
We’d like you so much more
If you were bright and effervescing.
Just pull yourself together.
You can manage it with ease.
And we’d all feel much more comfy.
If your socks stayed near your knees!
I find that a high proportion of the people I come into contact with whose mental health is fragile are spiritually-aware sensitives who care deeply about the world and often experience profound distress about the way it is being disrespected and destroyed, and frustration at their impotence to make a difference.
Their distress reflects the distress of the world, and is coloured with compassion and empathy; both more natural human responses to witnessed suffering than the denial and disconnectedness often shown by those who are deemed mentally healthy.
Poor mental health is being cited as the latest global epidemic, with one person in four expected to experience mental health problems in any given year in the UK and this number widely reflected on an international scale. Much consideration is being given to the possible reasons for this. Here is one theory to contemplate. . . . . .
Paradox
Why shouldn’t I suffer a mental health issue?
The world that I live in is mad!
Aren’t famine, recession and fracking sufficient
to render me angry and sad?
The ice caps are melting, the forests are dying,
the Japanese ocean is boiling.
So why isn’t everyone raging and crying
when this is our planet we’re spoiling?
Our media values duplicitous greed.
It wants us to value the same.
If strong medication’s the thing that I need
to resist it, can I be to blame?
Or could it just be that those more robust folk
who meander through life unencumbered
by concerns for their world and affairs that provoke
me to ponder should really be lumbered
with the label that follows me through all my days;
“Mental Health Problems”, whispered discreetly,
because surely it’s madder to live in a haze
of denial and shutting out neatly
all the gross inconsistencies, lies and betrayals,
the tragedies unfolding daily
In front of our noses as our planet ails,
and continue to trip through life gaily
than to holler and keen at the rabid machine
as it poisons humanity's future,
as bureaucracy rules, making leaders of fools,
while wounds fester for want of a suture.
Perhaps like the fairy tale in which the youth,
when he saw the grand emperor nude,
was the only brave subject to utter the truth
though the others considered him rude,
those who find themselves ravaged
and can’t play the game
of pretending that everything’s well
are the heralds of truth
who illumine the shame
that our earth is descending to hell.
And today’s epidemic of mental ill health
that is puzzling society so
if perused in perspective would offer a wealth
of rich wisdom we all need to know:
That to weep for a world that is daily subjected
to rape, exploitation and ruin
and to live in a way that this truth is reflected’s
the natural thing to be doing
while contributing to the destruction and vice
or existing with head in the sand
and believing you’re sane is a very high price
to pay out for the life you have planned.
For your plans cannot flourish,
the world can’t be well
and our shared mental health won’t repair
until we're all willing to wake up and tell
that the emperor’s fine clothes are not there.
So the quarter whose health is too fragile to cope
with a life where so much causes pain
could in truth be the empaths, the prophets of hope
and the quarter who truly are sane
while the other three quarters who trundle along
and insist that the king’s finely clad
are the ones whose lucidity’s really all wrong,
or in other words, totally mad!
Why shouldn’t I suffer a mental health issue?
The world that I live in is mad!
Aren’t famine, recession and fracking sufficient
to render me angry and sad?
The ice caps are melting, the forests are dying,
the Japanese ocean is boiling.
So why isn’t everyone raging and crying
when this is our planet we’re spoiling?
Our media values duplicitous greed.
It wants us to value the same.
If strong medication’s the thing that I need
to resist it, can I be to blame?
Or could it just be that those more robust folk
who meander through life unencumbered
by concerns for their world and affairs that provoke
me to ponder should really be lumbered
with the label that follows me through all my days;
“Mental Health Problems”, whispered discreetly,
because surely it’s madder to live in a haze
of denial and shutting out neatly
all the gross inconsistencies, lies and betrayals,
the tragedies unfolding daily
In front of our noses as our planet ails,
and continue to trip through life gaily
than to holler and keen at the rabid machine
as it poisons humanity's future,
as bureaucracy rules, making leaders of fools,
while wounds fester for want of a suture.
Perhaps like the fairy tale in which the youth,
when he saw the grand emperor nude,
was the only brave subject to utter the truth
though the others considered him rude,
those who find themselves ravaged
and can’t play the game
of pretending that everything’s well
are the heralds of truth
who illumine the shame
that our earth is descending to hell.
And today’s epidemic of mental ill health
that is puzzling society so
if perused in perspective would offer a wealth
of rich wisdom we all need to know:
That to weep for a world that is daily subjected
to rape, exploitation and ruin
and to live in a way that this truth is reflected’s
the natural thing to be doing
while contributing to the destruction and vice
or existing with head in the sand
and believing you’re sane is a very high price
to pay out for the life you have planned.
For your plans cannot flourish,
the world can’t be well
and our shared mental health won’t repair
until we're all willing to wake up and tell
that the emperor’s fine clothes are not there.
So the quarter whose health is too fragile to cope
with a life where so much causes pain
could in truth be the empaths, the prophets of hope
and the quarter who truly are sane
while the other three quarters who trundle along
and insist that the king’s finely clad
are the ones whose lucidity’s really all wrong,
or in other words, totally mad!
