I hear each day the tales of woe, of fear and hate and pain
and in each tale that I am told, the reasons for ‘insane.’
I see the souls all crumpled with nowhere left to go.
I hear the words that are the tale “let my blood freely flow.”
Each day I search for doorways into a troubled mind
and walking round on broken glass I see what I can find.
At times there is an answer that’s eager to be free
but then again, at other times, there’s nothing there to see.
What breaks a heart beyond repair or traps a soul in hell?
What hellbound spawn of satan can cast this ugly spell?
Or is it that thing humanity that casts them in the pit
and leaves them thinking that they’re somehow unfit
to be a part of our world; the free world of the ‘sane’.
Our land of milk and honey, while all they get is pain.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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