Last night I heard the voices,
all cacophonous above and around
my cylindrical light of perception--
mad, mad voices all abound. 

Chattering voices, singing woe,
letting the psychical verbiage flow.
Ah, but it was my madness, I do know. 

I sank into a stilted postulate at that mad dream,--
I had not slept for days and visions came to and gleamed;
everyone of my life spoke to me at once,
and the problem was I could not hear them fast enough. 

Last night I heard the voices
of corrupted angel's bliss
ravaged witless upon,
my enlightenment. 

Then towards me you came, as only you can come,
a cornucopia in black smoke;
I was most nearly undone, most nearly was I undone.
As I read your poems of life and death,
you snuck upon your mission:
Self-immolate, self-immolate! Whispering, 
come with me, you have the gods permission. 

Last night I heard the voices
of all my selves as they were. They begged
come to me, come to me, as you are. 

Authors Note: This poem is one of my most sung poems--due to requests. It is based on a true story.
 

All works by N. Scott Reynolds in the published works of Coffee Break Inspirations are Copyrighted, with All Rights Reserved. Permission to publish has been granted to CrumpledPapers.com. Nothing can be reprinted in any form without express permission from author. Feel free to send request or comments about this poetry to the author N. Scott Reynolds