I sometimes sit and scream at the moon,
with it’s silvery face, laughing at its own pock marked skin.
My freezing breath letting destiny in and out, as an icy vapour.
It seems no amount of rage will change my fate.
I sometimes walk, screaming inside,
to be freed from this gulag of ego and Id.
For self’s worth to be known unto God,
and for sanctity and honour to dwell within.
I sometimes explode and scream out loud,
at perpetual injustice and frustration,
making their resentful return,
both trapped inside a fragile vacuum.
Sometimes when I’m done shouting and screaming,
at the world and it’s woes.
I lie still, my minds compassion spent.
My mental ability, barely able to function.
Sometimes I think I’m screaming at God,
as it’s his hands cradling my soul.
I let this ecclesiastical jailer,
take every pound of flesh that’s owed.
I give this freely, in the hope of eternal life and peace.
If I listen very carefully,
I’m sure I can hear some of you,
silently screaming inside ?.