Deep Sorrow by Cath Campbell

I am not a silent poet

That eye rolling in the socket,
bloodshot, cracked,
removed from shame.

That madness,
that sickness
that sets the world in flame.

All a body craves is to be fed,
hold safety’s warmth,
and the roof overhead –

but the madness won’t allow it,
streaming from one to another
in gibbering caper.

If I believed in heaven and hell,
I’d climb the mountain
and scream at the sky.

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