I have walked the cloistered fields of your mind
where Freud staked his tent at the edge of your reason.
You subjected to the wisdom of academia
as your paranoid delusions twirled
round the torturous guide post of banality.
The child of your soul danced, played the fool,
all the while unknowing the steps, far removed
from the pin pricks of didactic questions.
How I loved your graceful movements when
you mounted comprehension’s white steed
and jousted with the black knight of despair.
Your shortcut path a walk through Elysian Fields,
mine a drudge across the jumble of reality.
Who is to say that your perception is not the truth?
Is there another dimension to life that you have seen while
I am blinded by the constraining shackles of convention?
That is why, in all your madness, I find the beauty of you.
I am the moth caught in the heat of normality acceptance.
You are the butterfly that has been released
from the cold steel cuffed bonds of the present
escaping from the dungeon of this life’s prison.
Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour