Stumbling Madmen

Into the night hours we stumble

Like so many madmen on the loose

Freed by the spirit of insanity

Which drives us to the brink


Flying through so many misunderstood emotions

We see them as colours on a spectrograph

A mere chart of meaninglessness

Against a need for expression


Sometimes we capture one spirit or the other

The physical being the easiest of both

The emotional and spiritual being ever elusive

Evades us till the dawn of discovery


At this dawn lies our meeting place

A grotto of intellect and spirit

Beckoning us to take the slow ascension

Into a physical state of emotional bliss



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