Where I Am Insane
I never paint love to form a portrait.
I will never brush a flaming bush.
I am black inside the greyness of my hate.
So is my shadow.
Trapped inside the sorrow.
Leading to my fate.
There is a door to my pain.
Where the blood from my demons.
My turmoil is thunder.
My hollow is shallow.
Inside my head.
The voices rumble.
Driving what is left.
Around the bend to the right.
Straight through the mirror.
Where I am alone.
Where I am insane.
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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