This was written a few years ago.
I generally don't write poetry, but a poem, of sorts, is what happened.


Without Cause

Without cause I found myself
Upon a wooded trail
Where Bobby walked and Edgar stalked
With perhaps some tales to tell
So I waited them and greeted them
And bid them each to speak
But Bobby still had miles to go
And promises to keep
Edgar uttered only mumblings
Excitedly disturbed
His eyes were darting here and there
In search of the ebony bird

I turned to see a mansion
Near the shadow of a cave
In the cave were all the masters
In the mansion lived the slaves
In the darkest gloom of the sparsest room
Pablo worked his magic
Against his brightest colors
He looked sallow, strained, and tragic
With canvas, brush, and camera
And a Miller Genuine Draft
He was photographing paintings
And painting photographs

And in the room next over, well
There was no room at all
Only blind men peering through the blinds
Of windows without walls

I woke as if from dreaming
To find I haven't slept in days
My mind muddied with nights before
Fighting through the haze
Reduced again to the sweating
And the tremors and the chills
Another victim of the liquids
And the powders and the pills

But perhaps hallucination
Is another place and time
Of fairy tales and wishing wells
And twisted nursery rhymes
Was Alice just an addict
Or a true guest of Queen and Cat
Who journeyed where we seldom dare
For fear we won't come back

Last edited by GJShades; 08/21/08 03:56 AM.