What once was lost but can be found,
Cloistered in restraint and care,
Aslumber devours the mind that caged it,
A plague of laughter that echoes doom.
Biting into the bleeding plum,
To which bird and beast and man can fall,
A prick of blood along my thumb,
I can no longer hear the call.
But the murder of my passion
Shall never stain my brilliant soul,
The dark art of creation is mine,
And its wonder my eternal jewel.
Cast aside fact for logic is hollow,
And clench my hand around those before me,
Through the ages I can drink of their sorrow
And finally let their verse be free.
How can this lane be a guide through my mania,
How can the past let me see our tomorrow,
Let the arcane craft reclaim my element,
Rekindle the glow of madness
That’s been lost in endless gloom.
Chronicles of a Stoic Maniac 