The Sane Side of the Veil
He looks into her catatonic eyes
and wonders what lies
beyond the vail of sanity.
Does the madness she screamed of hold her captive
in the twisted bowels of her mind?
He prays an escape she will find,
from the silver scaled dragons, setting villages ablaze;
no bloodless days.
Ogres fattening themselves
on tiny elves.
The constant clammering, to and fro,
an endless row
of angry, squawking, flightless birds.
And why did she, in black and grey,
to his dismay,
scribble across her beautiful painted landscapes?
Perhaps some familiar sounds
could bring her around.
A click of the remote for her favorite newscast.
He turns the volume high,
over the noise outside;
lines of traffic honking in rage.
On the news, a city falls.
Bombs blasted its walls.
It lies in a heap of smoldering ash.
Someone lost their dreams
on Ponsey schemes,
and murder rates creep up again.
In utter disgust,
he feels he must
turn away and look out the window.
To his horror and surprise,
he recognised
the "scribbling" of streets and power lines
strewn across the beautiful landscape.
His eyes glaze over.
Somewhere far away,
on a warm sunny day,
barefoot lovers run hand in hand through lush green fields;
on the sane side of the veil.
Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2017
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