Wit wild and uncouth,

the child unbound;

let loose in an adult body.

A mind unleashed,

unsettled and unsung.

Smashing the furniture

into small enough pieces,

to light a fire

and burn the door down.

The Neverland avenger.

Eyes alight with living fire,

deep green and disconcerting;

having long since shrugged off the shackles

of a cultured mind

and a civilized eye.

Rejecting the broken spirit and fettered wings

that first come with acquiescence.

Only the unwell would trade new love for comfort.

Certainly, only the broken

would sever their wings for a waistcoat!

Madness lives in the mediocre doldrums

of the adult mind.

A cesspit.

A midden.

A tomb.

Some of us remember,

that if we’re not living,

we’re dead.


HG – 2015

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