Residents of a Fevered Brain

Residents of a Fevered Mind By Sy Roth I took the road more traveled--my mistake Thought I could hide among the masses Fully expecting that someone might pluck me out, And I would endure in their sunlight forever. Waesucks, to exist in shapeless entropy, To become a mouse gnawing endlessly on their scraps Ort left by their forebears. To inhabit their dark cells. Their hazy dream of self-satisfaction Where significance raises a cheery head in the dust of calm. Beneath the derma, secreted indelicately, They hide with me in the gray matter of a dusky universe. Ah, the humanity of it all , our dirigible aflame. Our egotistical mish-mash of conflicting beliefs, residents of a fevered brain where dreams blossom Willy nilly n a display of Fourth of July explosions. Lost In a smoke-filled haze of discards left behind. We reside in Papal dreams of eternity on the lap of God Clasped hand in hand among an interminable line of precursors All dreaming the same, time-shared vision. Someone will pluck us from the stream of humanity, Someone will recognize our importance But we Lomans will march like lemmings wrapped in this belief Stripped of the trappings of value. To hear the Loony King Lears wail on the marsh Railing against the winds That stripped them of their imaginings We stand frozen bits of DNA. Act three suddenly opens with a flourish And the actor who takes the stage opines-- Perhaps, life is not supposed to be As meaningful as we think it is. It seems that life is but a barrel of offal And we can only await the time To cleanse ourselves of its scent.