THE MOMENT BEFORE STORM

And so we waited for another storm.

The last remained glaring on the ground

indifferent to a sun frigid and wan.

The tracks of squirrels still traced crazily

across the spread expressions of tiring snow.

And so we listened for the next storm

from upstairs, the room with the fury of mind

at bay for a small time, between blasts.

We drank our hot tea contemplatively.

There were no preparations we could make

except to wait, as madness readied

for its next descent upon our frayed nerves.

And so we sat in the moment before storm,

when the apparent pause in the world appears to appease.

SCREAM

I will believe. You demonize your drugs.

You'll fight the pharmacopial Hitlerism.

Experience says you'll end up screaming mad.

You begin to scream against my disbelief,

declaim for the right to freedom from abuse.

You strike the table top for emphasis.

You situate your nose an inch from mine.

 

And I will yes believe. Why not this,

since everything has failed you anyway?

Drugs for sure are darts thrown in the dark

by doctors licensed to game with your brain cells.

None has borne you back to what you were,

light wing of song, bright laugh at leaden life.

 

I will believe, with you, against the truth.

Yes I will believe a brain can scream its health.