[asylum]

He sat at his desk madly punching away at the keys like a symphony,
In a room wreaking of misery he weeps reaching for sweet infamy,
Each day plays out the epitome of sadness explained,
Until one day the shades of madness became a channeling change.
An empty door hangs on the hinge of an animal’s cage,
holding within a handwritten page, weathered and aged.
Well wishes littered with pleasure and rage, a measure of shame,
It ends, “we can’t blame ourselves for the weather today.”
Each minds a cast or a frame that fractures can change,
layers of plaster arranged and engraved with names and patterns of praise,
assuage our passions today. Free us from greed, gamble our asses away.
Teeth grind and chatter, out to pasture on life’s more benign factors we graze.
Distracted from faith, trash compactors and graves mark the path all the way.
Logic’s saving the day, reasons the deepest sense we’ve manufactured to need,
It’s pretense keeps secrets from the actors preaching it’s creed,
factors manufactured for beings who perceive consumption as being free.