(Shortly before my recent abscess of poetry writing ambition was lanced by the scalpel of stark reality, the following glob of philosophical pus oozed it’s way out.)
When the linesman gets it wrong.
There might be a moral deficiency
When the shrink hands down a decree:
“You have madness and lack of proficiency
And rampant in-sanity.”
Sentenced to incarceration
At a nut-house owned by the State
With bars and solitary isolation.
Psychoanalyist sealed her fate.
Medication injected intravenously
Quells the genius and fire within.
Dignity compromised immorally,
And who has the far greater sin?
Just tell me with impugnity,
In these places where boffins are taught.
Do they provide lifelong immunity
So madness can never be caught?
Or can psychiatrists also be subject
To a reduced equilib-rium,
Irrationality, guilt and abject
Depression and de-lerium?
If you, my friend, are accused
Of reduced cognitive perception,
And your freedom’s being refused
For the community’s protection,
Point out to them what they forgot.
That there’s a thin dividing line
‘Tween being bonkers and maybe not
And that you are completely fine.
If the shrink could only view the mind
Like a tennis slo-mo replay,
The impartial umpire will surely find
You’re IN, and it’s HIM wot’s astray.