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MADMAN
Too much we are judged
by our ability to make bread
living a kind of dead life
without kindness
blinders on
seeing neither left nor right
our senses worn out
with struggle
the fight not to survive
but to appear correct
in the eyes of those we care about
even as they misunderstand
our good intentions
mistake them for God-given roles
that we play
unbidden
upon a barren stage
our parts written by a poet
from another time
when work was dignified
and not part of this slimeball
world of advertising
marketising
of self
and those around us
sound bytes for soundless minds
walking a thin line
upon gray sidewalks
littered with garbage
packages consumed
discarded
larded with extra fat
to make them more appetizing
and so I flee
run with manic glee
towards the unknown
towards anything
in hope of freedom
from this strait jacket
of boredom
conforming
to your absolute rules
the spittle
drooling from my mouth
now a madman
in your eyes
and soon flies
will gather
to light
upon the caking brown blood
no longer flowing from my veins
for I have become insane
and have left this life
for another
leaving my corpse behind
for you to ponder and condemn
as I rise toward heaven
laughing.
© Farrell Dyde
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