which dangled through my days,
to tell the world and also me
my brain was quite deranged.
The words were crisp and clear
and cruel, and carved by other minds,
to show that they were normal -
and I through madness climbed.
Those words were meant to keep
them safe; to fence their certain
world and yet for me they built
the walls - a prison for my soul.
Those lettered chains are with
me still, and cannot be removed,
for that would threaten sanity -
at least, as they defined.
How casually they drape such
things, how easily they put
their neat and tidy category
upon a complex Self.
It fits the narrow edges of
their logic-laden world,
denying rich humanity
it's chance to live and feel.
How messy is a human being
in full creative form, how
frightening is psyche's dance,
in small and ordered halls?
The bright, full rage of nature
can swallow reason's call,
and in the shadowed burning -
turn certainty to doubt.
Those clear and perfect labels,
like sentries then must stand,
to guard the gates of surety;
to hide the sacred dreams.
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