“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
I am not good for penning when my mind is in a haze.
No good for breathing when my heart is ablaze.
There are thickets and thorns in the expanse of thought
And I’m falling, and tripping, my feet are getting caught.
I tried to rhyme you a pattern
All I could manage was stutters
Hollow voice struggling to form vowels
Running stomach, unable to hold my bowels.
I couldn’t get it together well enough
I couldn’t be that man you wanted, rough and tough
There were scabs all over, marks on my skin
I was betrayed by form, covered with my sin.
I can only touch you at the end of a stick
Love transferable by good thought and a wish
Lepers look from below at angels above
I am debased by dreams of what I cannot have.
1 Cor 13: 11a When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child;