Psychiatry Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Ineptness rears its ugly nose
for all to see, it does expose
itself regardless of the host.
And he who fears the shame the most
is at the mercy of the masses,
so, in return, he calls them 'asses',
makes comments that are so inept,
it would be better had he kept
them in that little cranial vault.

But, then again, those who cry HALT
before they do remove all doubt
are not the ones who fret and pout.
It is the sense that has gone missing,
(they even have some trouble pissing
and often soil their ironed shorts) ,
they rarely do excel in sports,
in general they're on the border
of personality disorder.

And as the years go flying by
the telomeres of such a guy
appear like shreds of fitlhy rags,
are paper thin like modern fags.
And then the time comes when they cross
that hairy line and when they toss
all caution to the winds of change
the end result will be quite strange.

Though usually these people know
that a disturbance in the flow
of normal thinking has occurred.
If, at that time they were referred
not to a shrink but to a home
they could be given the old brome,
a medicine for failing minds,
they still could wipe their own behinds,
but, as to other mental function
they would be over at this junction.

It is too bad that psycho-clinics
were shut because of public cynics,
beancounters pointed out the cost
and then those havens were all lost.

Today, in sane society
we have a wide variety
of quite moronic individuals
who are, of course the last residuals
of incompatibility.
That is when genes should never be
combined because multiplication
of traits leads, always to gyration,
all for the sake of cell division,
which commandeeers its own decision,
a fault of evolution thus.

Well, going back, he's missed the bus,
shows signs of imminent derailment,
there is no pill to cure his ailment.
Society must be aware
that there exists duty of care.

So let us humour them and aid
and quickly move them to the shade
where all the pressures of our lives
seem milder, and where peace arrives.
And, lest we look from lofty perches
down to conduct repeated searches
for more, about to lose their mind
I say we would, most likely, find
that in the light of sunny days,
beyond that prejudicial haze
we'd know that some of us are mad.

And while this may be very sad
would we then point to poor athletics
or blame selectional genetics.
Or would those rules be inconvenient,
as for ourselves a much more lenient
and biased standard would apply?

It is, at least it seems to me
a true dilemma not to be
immersed in what's elucidated
by experts who have overrated
and bent to suit their way of thinking
the truth as it was slowly sinking.
The clothes of any emperor
would fit no Werner Klemperer.