There’s a kind of silence to madness,
a temporary implosion of the mind;
there is no light within my psyche,
e’en my inner vision now is blind.
I hear the voices of my ages past,
the life that still knows my name;
the youth of forgotten memory,
from whence this madness came.
How am I now to recall my life,
when e’er was purpose to dreams;
no more shall I tremble in wonder,
now staid in my world as it seems.
Take from me this ethereal chaos,
these wasted moments in my time;
my mind may be stranger to reason,
yet still be a companion to rhyme.
Say no more, these sullen words,
I am long dead in madness, true;
yet have I not the vein to believe
these thoughts be not left too few.