Asylum

There’s a box on the table
That will talk if you ask it to.
It can speak any language you like,
But I don’t like to listen to it.

The things it says are troubling,
Telling stories of death and violence,
Of children torn from the womb,
And their mothers ravaged;
Of men who kill for the sake of faith,
Of boys who kill for the sake of killing,
Of men in suits who fight like children;
The men we chose to rule our world.

I hate that box sometimes.
Nothing good ever comes out of it.
Just stories of madmen and loose women
And machines made to kill.

Day after day, it’s the same story,
And I grow so weary of the sound of their Incessant screaming
For justice,
For vengeance,
For a way out,
For a country that “adheres to our values”.

Everyone wants something,
Yet they criticize each other for wanting too much.
I want things, yes,
But I don’t shoot down anyone and everyone who disagrees with me.

I can’t take it anymore.
I shut the box off,
And I run as fast as I can
From that cacophony of anger.

Oh, the humanity!
Oh, humanity!
Who are you to say who may live,
Who may die,
Who may love,
Who may lie,
Who may laugh,
Who may cry,
Who may ask,
And who may reply?

I retreat to my favorite place on earth,
The one place I know
That screaming box can’t get to;
The place I really call home.

My favorite place is here, in my little fortress
Made of something a little stronger than steel,
But still as soft as warm candle wax.

No one else really knows what goes on here.
No one knows what I do
When I’m all alone.

Though you fancy me lonely,
Tales of love and laughter
In a language all my own
Are more than enough to keep me company.

I don’t need the box,
And I really don’t understand
Why so many people do.
Did their imaginations
Get scared and run away?

Here in my little sanctuary,
I let my mind wander.
I stop to ponder
What most people don’t even give
A second thought,
And maybe if they did
They would see what their life really is.

A contemplative angel sings beside me
A soundtrack, or a prelude?
Stars shine brighter as I close my eyes
And see farther than I ever could.

Now, is this some kind of reality,
Or is this just my mind?
Are we all meant to be?
Meant to live so joyously
In the all-encompassing insensitivity
Of this thing we call
Life?
Do we all have dreams?
Is this all that it seems?
Are we made from the same block
Of recklessness and discrepancy,
Or are there some of us
A few of us
Who know what it is like
To truly feel,
To know what we are
And what we are not?
And if there are,
Who?

Such questions irritate people when I ask them.
They try to give me an easy
Faith-based answer.
That’s when I pull a Socrates
And spin them around
In verbal circles
Until they’re ready to kill me.
No hemlock for me, thanks.
I just wanted to make you think.
I know that’s a challenge for you,
But you always said it’s good to try new things.

To me, these questions
Are like a soft, sweet lullaby.
Sung in a language only I know
In a tune only I can hear.
They give me a reason to search,
To keep searching,
And they let me know
This place will always be open to me.

I spend a lot of time here in my haven,
Just thinking to myself.
But quite often,
I’ll get an idea worth saving.

I’ll open my window,
My door to another world,
And I’ll say the magic words.
Silly, I know,
But it works.

On the other side,
I can speak for myself,
I can paint with words,
A classic Rembrandt portrait,
Or a Pollock ambiguity,
Switching between the two as I choose.

I’m in the middle of a blue period,
Inspired by something so beautiful,
I can’t help but look again,
Searching for inspiration.
I search through my closet
Of words and images
Of the works of my hands
And the objects of my admiration,
Looking for her.

There she is.
All I ever wanted
In the form of something magnificent.
My dreams personified
In a dark and dazzling blue.
This warrants something big.
It’ll take at least an hour.
It’s not like anyone’s  going to see me,
Not if I have my way.

I gaze at her,
Burning her image into my mind,
And then my hands go to work,
A physical tribute
To a psychological idol.
My beautiful enigma.

Outside my little refuge,
The world rages on.
The boxes shout
In house after house.

Inside,
I find asylum here.
I can do what I love.
I can enjoy life.
I can be at peace with myself.
At peace with my world.

So I’ll stay here
In my backwards asylum,
Safe from the world’s
Insanity.