Say you’d do walk for him 500 miles and 500 more

and say you thought he’d do the same for you

were on the other foot was the shoe

But say this clear to yourself lest you go deaf

It was a thought and a shadow you chased

A figment of your imagination: a hallucination

Your canker religious infested him sullen

Your tales of dread sucked the life out of him whole

Your actions you thought were blameless were not so

Say you think you’re a good person and say it out aloud

And now hear the words as they make no sense to others

But mostly to you because you know they ain’t true, honey

He was a good man and in some life you used to be too

But now it ain’t anymore, hon, you ain’t anymore his boo

What’s to be reaped is rept, what’s to creep has crept and left

The veils unveiled, the truth revealed ; who cares how many tears you wept?

In the words of the Lord Stephen King, Haunt be his reign

“There are other worlds than these” and to these he belongs, not you

Untainted with the metaphysics of unrequited love or requited

His thoughts have gone to echelons higher, goals Olympian

And you’re pretty much in the same dump as you were before

Thinking he could be caged as your pet, your time pass, your muse

Say, your agendas had nearly caught him in their web

But the fly-to-be-trapped in the spider’s trap had the Losers

they stomped even when the turtle didn’t help them

And the catatonia that had him frozen in depression

Doesn’t catatonize him anymore — he can see

But can you? the spider dies, the fly flies, good bye

Chaos for the fly is normal to the spider — no evil is absolute evil

But yours was, knowing that what you were doing was not normal

even by spider-standards — you were to him the source of sadness

Did he not have burdens of his own to bear, paths to tread?

Did he not hold sacred his own Lord of the Flies, himself being a fly?

And yet you denied, denied, and denied — tis no sickness but a mere label

“Snap out of it, you’re hurting me, I make free in my hectic time a window

And yet you sit here passing it,” you said to him, knowing …

Knowing what he was going through, the pain that wouldn’t pass

Books, video games, music, television for him was not entertainment

but addlers so he may hallucinate in peace for a second or two

Because Shirley said no organism can survive the strain of sanity for long

even Larks and Katydids are supposed to dream — and he was only dreaming

For his sanity had driven him insane and he needed respite

which, well, let’s say he found it but no thanks to you

Solace in the comfort of his own kin and his own people whom he’d disowned

And yet owned them when he saw they were the ones there for him, not you

Were it that there were two oases and one was plentiful and nearer

And the other farther and smaller and almost nonexistent

Where’d you go, a rational person such as you?

Mecca or the mosque that ain’t no one heard of?

And of this misshapen thought thread, this nothingness he’ll say to you this

Although the masters make the rules for the wise men and the fools

He ain’t neither but one in the middle, swaying Qalblike

For madmen are not the rules for the wise men and the fools

blessed be that redeeming madness

his only freedom found is in Free Verse for now

and in the zig-zag he’s played artfully dodging people’s games

For him to have felt freedom he had to die a little death and he did

Coming out alive on the other side like some cheap jesus-knock-off