ASYLUM 

I am not Kris

Who talks to live

I am not Jesus

Who speaks to preach

To write a poem

Is not my craft

For me to inscribe is a Prozac

I am neither a jack-of-all-trades

Nor the lord of words

I don't master the world

For I cannot, for I am not

I am human

In reason and in emotion

I think I feel, I write

Endlessly refined

By power of time

Blinded by the false truths

An inspired lunatic

That explores the spectrum of the universe

My thoughts are no crystal clear

The words in every line

Murmur my adverse mind

The lines in every poem

Whisper my poignant heart

Undaunted

Savage thinking defies form

Uttered in a cannibal tongue

Unadulterated by standards

Unmindful of Wizards

You cannot peek into the nest

Or be near at all

Unless you can see

The star in the clouded sky

Pardon me Kris

For this is not a poem

Forgive me Jesus

For I am not a poet.