Come sing me an ode!
Write me a sonnet!
Something of love and summer
Or something of tragedy and heartbreak
At least!
Oh how adore the them all!
Their dramatization of reality
The box in which is locked away
So true poets can’t ensure happiness
Only to inscribe their pain
Their experiences
And their short lived joy
For the purpose
Of
Happiness
And
Entertainment
For the genes of being mentally ill
And being ill are fundamentally the same
You can never reach true atonement
For those genes
But only hope for the light
At the end of the tunnel
Where the sun does reach
And your work does touch
The lives of many
The day that which
All will know what an ode is
And read Shakespeare's Sonnets daily
And you will be held up
Because your short-lived joy
Will become long-term happiness
And you will live
To see another day.