WhErE ThE MaDmEn gO

they wait in ships of fate
to will the time and forge the space
renewing rites of exclusion; not to suppress,
but to keep sanity’s sacred distance.
conveyed in satiric vessels, their insane cargoes
full of madmen sail in search of reason.
every destiny hopefully fulfilling.
every embarkation potentially the last.
their sails have a hundred wills
and the murky deep a thousand arms
reaching for the sea-bound steadfast in that crossing,
and point to the passage of imaginary hope.
for the land from which they come
is the land for which they seek…
navigators of unreasoned melancholy,
a moving chaos full of vice and fault.
into the sea of Satan spread wide they their sails,
and firm is their grip that forever shall be locked
onto the course which madness guides them.
into the blindness they hasten, where hope is lost forevermore.