The Maniac lies dead on the asylum floor, slowly old ghosts drag home. A mumbling, fretting sound, like a lonely dog, echoes down the long corridors of hopeless sanctuary. Where God seems not to care, and forced endurance is seen in eyes of those encamped around death.
Once young men and women of the world, sharing days of wine and wonder, now hags and decrepit geeks, in a monstrous shadow land. Outcasts, convulsing in whimpering futility under merciless laughing. Blundering reaching out to walls that are sprayed red from head banging artistry.
The longest cry of death I ever heard, was on a dark damnations ward where the dregs of humanity called, ‘Male Nurses,’ with less compassion as grave cloths, played cards and drank tea, they were made of dirt more than flesh, damn them.
And now I collide with trainloads of tortured souls, and shudder as the weight of guilt comes at me like an old steam express train, my judge and my jury, because I was there and did nothing.
We invented a monster, and called it ‘Mental Health’
and then even worse ‘The Psychiatric division,’
manned it with enemies of the human race
and even put a Chapel in it!
I dreamed that God sent out for ear plugs.