The Asylum
'London's burning, London's burning,
fetch the books, Fahrenheit 451'
The inmates gawk from our ward's window,
they don't look back,
they walk no further.
(Shakes his head in dismay)
That's right my apple-picking friend,
not much has changed since you fell off the ladder.
I dip my hand into the melting ice of the glass.
I can smell it, I say.
In the fire's waving ecstasy,
I'll try to reap its piquant lick.
Aye, the smoke, as it singes the plastic of my hands.
Inner peace, inner peace,
the monk of Tibet knows,
'I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now'
And breath,
one two,
one two,
and weep,
one two,
one two,
and dance,
sing,
scream!
All the world's seas,
and all the king's lands,
in rapture to fill
My Lord God's hands
Unconquerable shake of the madman's iron grip,
Each four-winged, heartless Pomeranian princess
of a Brother's Grimm fairy tale,
are whispers in the waterfall.
The lady's charm,
the missing marble arms,
oh beauty further than the seas,
cold on my toes she touches,
oh water of timeless blue,
flower of the Cuckoo's rest,
[...] Read more
poem by Ross Mackay
Added by Poetry Lover
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