Pattern of Insanity

The wind blows straight trough my head,
Whispers things in my ear;
It all seems too normal.
The sky is crying big blue pearls,
That make my cheeks and hair wet.
The grass under my back,
I hear it grow stronger and more vivid.
Isn't life so fragile; I think,
And watch that grass turn black.

Little stones under my bleeding feet,
The black ones turn white,
And white ones turn grey.
They sting and cut; they greet.
Insanity is only a state of mind,
I hear them say.
My head shakes involuntarily as my eyes stare at the bleeding hay.

My hands meet the living ground.
Gravity isn't the one holding me.
My legs are bound!
Trees cry and only I can hear them weep.
My body shivers in the touch of that bitter sound.
Eyes cannot close; the insane ones do not sleep.
Something lies on the sand:
A growing sinful mound.
Am I the only one reaching for that hand?
I have been given these eyes that see something,
Things that you wouldn't understand!

Water drips down in paths,
Three notes fly and apart.
Innocent wetness scars my skin.
I am swimming in the lake of grin.
You only know you have lost your mind,
When you are unable to see the inhumanity.
I stare at the pattern of insanity.