CHAPTER 5 Metamorphosis
Turned To Stone
I turned to face the distance
and there was a rigid air of
loneliness and discomfort in my bones.
And there was an empty chair for
all my friends at my birthday party;
perhaps they forgot to come again,
like last year. Love used to be
so easy. Now there’s only
a concrete crown of thorns
on my head. I try to smile,
but it’s as if everybody knows when
to laugh and when to cry. And
my family sees me like an
ornament on the mantle-piece.
I’m not an ordinary and animate
person anymore; spiritually there is
a battle raging within. The giants of
depression and psychosis are at war with
my heart, which has turned to stone.
Waiting For Her
Years alone spent without rest, though
in the company of everyone
Hiding from the pain and standing tall,
waiting for a woman
Learning from inspiration in a world so
beautiful and yet darkened in hue,
Yearning to exalt honour with family,
waiting for her devotion
Peace may offer me a chance, and yet,
there is romance in passions of war
Conflicts of true demand in sun and shade,
waiting for her affection
Born of Earth and dust to try and abide
with his glorious devotion and zeal,
knowing also of flesh and blood and
waiting for her body
Doubts are there in plenty, and
confidence is sometimes a thorn in his side
Relying on strength and patience,
waiting for the truth
Always the questions are simple, and yet
complexity is the answer to our lives
Searching for a hope and to be part of life,
waiting for her love!
The Laughter
When is it time to laugh?
To be funny and break the rules?
When animals do crazy things,
and grown-up people act like fools,
it’s normal to want to poke fun
With a whole new way to think,
why don’t we laugh at our mistakes
if we start to reach the brink?
So there need not be a commotion,
when we’re playing silly games
Is humour not the medicine
that helps ease our life’s refrain?
Shine
I want the world to
shine — not like the ‘clowns’
who live in a cartoon world.
Why can’t somebody tell congress
that the kids in school need a break?
The news is always on — why can’t
I stop listening to its pain? For there’s
a light that shines in the sky; it’s always
there, reminding us to start the day.
If one act of random kindness can
make people happy, how is it
over 6 billion births had no effect?
Perhaps it did, for the birds still
sing, the flowers still bloom, the
ships have sails, the bees have honey.
Even if the world shrinks by a billion,
there are still 5 billion reasons
to smile and to shine
The Church Dreams
The church is the body
of Jesus Christ — but its people
have forsaken mine
Once my illness was
likened to bad spirits and
I spoke in my darkest
hour.......
You are not my saviour
You are not my redeemer
You are not my protector
You did not bow down to me
You did not bend your knee
You did not rescue me when
I was lost in dreams,
I was lost in dreams,
I was lost in dreams.
You are not my Father
Your did not wipe away my tears
You did not hear my voice
when I was lost dreams,
When I was lost dreams,
When I was lost dreams.
When I walked away, you
turned your back on me
when I was lost in dreams,
when I was lost in dreams,
when I was lost in dreams.
And when I’m in my coffin,
and my dreams are second best,
they won’t resurrect my spirit —
My nightmares never rest!
Voice of Dreams
Life’s little
twists and turns
of man’s ‘internal voice’
is a danger for some
who have no choice.
We all ‘whisper’ or
‘shout’ to the
conscience of our
own minds,
but when our lives go
wrong, we draw
the line. Darkness
clouds the eye of an
ancient soul.
Even the simplest
of ‘dark thoughts’
may cause society’s
withdrawal. Learn to
regain that ‘inner voice’
within, or life will be
full of a worldly sin.
Paranoia
Don’t be afraid
of us. We live our lives and celebrate
the joy of incandescent highs
in the world. There is romance inside
our hearts, and music is in our eyes.
The only paranoia we fear is in
the misconception of a threat -
but our minds are made to love,
even if they scar our souls. And a
perceived threat is just as
powerful as a real one.
Homelessness
We were made
perfectly, not that so others
could take advantage
of us and be trampled on.
We have a light inside
our eyes that was not
created to see despair,
unless the faded lies of
paper dreams are real.
Nothing makes my
heartbeat miss anymore.
The ‘red light’ of my
halo has dissolved.
We were given a
promise to live
forever, but we cut
ourselves so we can
die. Now they walk past
me when I’m drowning. We
were made to laugh and
the streets of homeless
angels make us weep.
The pale reflection
in the mirror is
more than a face
Now it is one big scar
that unites this
growing army.
We were made to
love, but all we know
is suffering. And even
the beds of Bethlehem
are full —where are
my rights? Can you
spare a penny for
me and my troubles?
Are the stars going
out in your life?
Olanzapine
Oh you of truest wonder,
who has led me back
to the end of the maze!
Your power has opened
up my senses, but didn’t
take away my haze
You have undone my
paranoia’s eclipse with a
beautiful morning light,
but the demons of
metabolic craving has
cursed my appetite
Fear
There is a cloud of decep
tion
that speaks to the mind,
and blocks out the sun.
She tricks logic and turns
energy into a plague of
thoughts. Why can’t her
spider’s web be extinguished
by medication? Must our
cries be alone in the
silence? Her poison
heart paralyses
her victims.
Meditation
The tides of
meditative thoughts
calm the brain and
the mind, while the
curious flames of
Samsara affect the
the blinding light
of mystery.
My soul is waiting
to be uncovered
from dreams and
delusions
Regret
It’s easy to ‘let go’,
and to dream of hopeless
eternity, and allow the days
of our youth to fade away. It’s
wise to be honest, and try to
be sincere, and have a cup
of kindness for the sake of Auld
Lang Syne. But life has tricks
and traps to ensnare the mind,
and the crowd does not seem to
be aware. And we must learn
the lessons of history - yet
what of regret? Where does
her power lie? And why does
she plague our souls?
Perhaps the blind man who
has no eyes will always
show us the way!
I Found Myself
In the pit of my soul,
where the ‘mocking birds’ live,
amongst the lions and the charlatans,
I stumbled. At the table where
they played their ace cards
and collected their winnings, I
searched. Encircled by
the hyenas, who attacked me at
first sight of blood, and the ‘clowns’
whose sad faces weep and yet laugh
the most, I marched — until I
found a light that shone through to
the hearts of men, and showed
at the West End could hear my
true voice at last! In the chasm of
darkness, where only
the ‘wrecked ships’ of old
have sailed, there stood
a figure whom I have always
known but seldom loved. And it
was there I sat with destiny,
and I found myself!
The Bells
Fear has spoken to me
once more. Stealing my senses,
she seems to laugh sadistically.
My heartbeat is staccato and
these bloodshed eyes are sealed,
like the walls around a castle gate.
It is night time in the Garden
of Eden, where I long to be,
but I am full of original
sin. And the stars appear
duller, my emotions are flatter,
and my tired voice is weaker.
What is to become of me?
Oh, jealously and guilt will not
kill the shadows of fear with
these selfish endeavours.
The bells of doom begin to toll,
and all I can hear is the sound of
its lonely music that
drowns out the pleasures of life.
I beg of you Notre Dame — release
me from your power. The
solitary woes of clairvoyant pain
have become your speciality.
I Don’t Pray Anymore
You know that the
seasonal affects of light and
darkness has altered your mood.
You are more irritable than usual,
like a piece of food stuck in your
mouth there is no escape, the air
in your lungs is shallow, and
you feel yourself suffocating. What
prayer is there for a man who needs
oxygen to breathe before he dies?
The body is slowly dissolving, you start
to panic, and then after a lack of
sympathy your high blood pressure
has become etched all over your
back. There is no reward, nothing to
live for. No human has ever escaped
this trap, left only for you!
Schizophrenic
Schizophrenia
is an illness that
prevents its insights
and elevations of
thoughts to be
heard. And when
will his voices be
convicted in colourful
rainbow dreams?
Perhaps the answer
to this question
is when enough
‘dreamers’ are
awoken.
***
NOTE TO READER:
Thank you so much for
reading my ebook. Schizophrenia is
a complex illness, thanks for your
time and patience. Visit my
blog for more poetry,
and to buy a paperback (version)
of this ebook.
https://www.schizophreniapoetry.com
Thie ebook was featured in
Cutting Edge Psychiatry in Practice,
in partnership with SEPT
South Essex Partnership Trust (NHS)
David Holloway (c)