They talk of dreams and memories,
The whispering voices in white coats,
Of facing reality and letting go.
What do those shallow souls know?
Certainly naught of the depth or reality,
For what is more real than our strongest memories?
This here and now, this all consuming present,
Which they worship in such mediocrity.
Passes swiftly into nothingness.
I do not recall what I ate for breakfast.
I care not enough to remember that,
Nor the eye color of the white coats.
Other eyes I will never forget,
They stare at me, taunting from strangers faces,
Blood curdling, and they say it is not real?
When all the world has passed to black and white,
But the dreams reel on in vivid Technicolor,
Who are they to tell me they are not reality?
If I had it left in me to hate, even to feel,
I would hate the white coats,
For their condescension of my world.
But, now I merely wish in equal measures,
For them to shut up,
Or for them to be right.
And each day I pray,
For the dark decent of madness or of death,
Whichever will take the memories.
noel
The whispering voices in white coats,
Of facing reality and letting go.
What do those shallow souls know?
Certainly naught of the depth or reality,
For what is more real than our strongest memories?
This here and now, this all consuming present,
Which they worship in such mediocrity.
Passes swiftly into nothingness.
I do not recall what I ate for breakfast.
I care not enough to remember that,
Nor the eye color of the white coats.
Other eyes I will never forget,
They stare at me, taunting from strangers faces,
Blood curdling, and they say it is not real?
When all the world has passed to black and white,
But the dreams reel on in vivid Technicolor,
Who are they to tell me they are not reality?
If I had it left in me to hate, even to feel,
I would hate the white coats,
For their condescension of my world.
But, now I merely wish in equal measures,
For them to shut up,
Or for them to be right.
And each day I pray,
For the dark decent of madness or of death,
Whichever will take the memories.
noel
