You Wouldn't Listen to a Madman

You wouldn’t listen to a madman

With a shrill outburst, powerful

And sudden, like a flurry of crow wings

And voice just as loud, burying

The silence of rummage, escaping

The grime of earth, and seized

In a solitary moment.

What do you know about truth?

Nay, let us speak of friendship

And the portly mother hen,

Poking mother earth, finding truth,

And lie, truth, and lie. How, my friend,

Would you know, when we sit

And laugh and cheer without end?

What if, in mindless merry’s midst, I say

You will ignore a call, forget a text,

And look away from me, one day?

Look at the madman’s finger, jabbing

At a shattered promise, like a mournful

Crow’s beak, splitting the pretentious air;

Listen, for something troubles him.

Picture credit: wbur.org