poet...

i have swept the virgin aside
and slept fulfilled in the arms
of a madman who thought i was his mother,
his sister—no matter;
we are only labels; the passions which
unearth our mortality only
forms of ancient possession…
i have loved idealism formed
in this mad child of mine,
conceived clinically in gray vaults
of my mind;
i have witnessed his transformation
into insanity, into passion, into sadism;
if we love these children of ours,
creation would end;
we create ourselves again and again
against the nightmare of despair…


poet...soliloquies
ja allen