BEDLAM

By Peter Woodgate

Dark the night, so too his thoughts,

ghastly visions and loneliness combine,

then dawn, with all its glory breaks

alas, this fails to calm the mind

of the soul locked in a detached sphere,

just why? The doctors are unsure,

the diagnosis is not clear.

And so, the patient sits and stares,

a blank expression on his face,

sometimes he stands and walks the room

a slow and melancholy pace.

Scrambled numbers on the door

like prison bars restrict the soul,

the body too and will ensure confinement.

Twenty years, to date, I’m told

and find it hard to understand

whilst looking at the world today

I’m fearful, in profound dismay.

I guess this crazy soul, like I

cannot understand just why

mankind is heading into Hell

to leave miasma in the sky,

what fate we face? Just time will tell.

Since Adam first walked on this Earth

mankind has chosen war, not peace

for greed consumes the heart and mind

forgetting that this world we lease.

We have been warned, some will ignore,

it matters not, for rich or poor.

This chap, without a shout,

has shown me what it’s all about

I find, that now, I am like him

and can’t accept the state we’re in.

So, lock me up, think I am mad,

I’ll think of you and will be sad

For this asylum knows the truth,

and all outside are crass, uncouth.        

Copyright Peter Woodgate