Single Thread

[Phil Rose]

Bound by a single thread fastened to my soul
the room is a prison, my hand a prisoner
The single thread is bound ever tightened
The mad man laughs, I hear his echo
His knuckles are silent as he knocks at my door
He enters with an empty smile and an almost wicked grin
The madman laughs
and writes in his diary
He wrote these words
then he was gone.

But yet he never leaves me
for he moves my unwilling hand
the writers gift becomes a curse
and he mocks me inside my head
I must obey his command
In the mirror I see him
and he sees me
I laugh at myself
And stand like a statue
For my words are your thoughts
as you read them
the madman climbs inside of you.

And our fingers turned to stone.


(A little poem that came to me in a dark hour of night)