The winds of thought spread rust to the machine
I feel the multi colored weeds growing,
The field and machine turning to dust, churning
The gears erode and chimes th' toxic queen
The alluring cavern most deviously pristine
Sending musing screams lustful and defining
Using shadow speech, for it's in writing
Using the devil's tricks, with blinding sheen
The nurons seez at the outskirts of thought
Nevermore the logos factories spark
And gone are the echoes of forgotten dream
Schizophrenia reigned, chaos' of traut
Long gone the creative ideas hark
Still yet, a dim light does overly beam
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Author:
never be (
Offline) - Published: October 20th, 2026 09:00
- Comment from author about the poem: I thought that I had posted this, but I couldn't find it when looking back at my MyPoeticSide backlog. So, what do you think?
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments2
Thoughts deemed by others mad to seem but sad. I have known many that were Schizophrenic each a diamond in the rough. Not understood they held so much potential unknown even to themselves. Artists, poets, that could not find a home holding a different view of the world. One day we will look back on them as the witches of the twenty first century persecuted for a crime they never committed and a disease that never existed. Just another point of view that we could not agree with. A lovely write.
I'm an autistic surrealist who thinks he's a poet !
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