Human's diseases arise with the dis-ease of the soul.

Pharmacist, magician

Don’t tempt me with your wares

With a claim of cures for madness

Other ailments and despairs.


I do not trust your cauldrons,

Your heavy pockets nor,

The rainbow types of happy pills

Available in-store.


To cover all my defects

And subscribe to the ideal,

That drugs can fix most anything

Even the way you feel.


They label you Neurotic:

Depressed just like the rest .

A little on the skinny side

And shall we run some tests?


A pill to lower sadness

Another adds the fat.

That pesky, dated conscience:

They have a drug for that.


Vice versa is a blessing,

That God had set to grow

To alleviate the suffering

That humans tend to know.


Perception is not madness,

The ling’ring of it is.

Separation must be made

With mental reflexes.


The world is base and scary

It’s only opponent, Good.

But we do not need to medicate

To do just what we should.


I will embrace my being:

A weak, yet powerful beast,

Skilled at causing chaos.

Choosing to act of it least.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed