Here I am, the gallant knight,
trapped in a room where I cannot fight.
Here I am silent and still,
gazing out the windowsill.
I paint the world outside my cell
dragons and demons fight as well
as the battles raging in my head
the harrowing feeling that I might be dead.
I let my brush sweep the skies,
I build a world full of whys.
Dizzily, I speckle stars
and give new life to planet Mars.
But footsteps break me from my page,
I pace inside the mental cage,
my mind is melting with my brush
its colours dulled, no longer lush.
I hear them calling out my name
but I must paint just one more frame,
dripping down across the sheet,
I let the colour stain my feet.
One with art and art has won,
I'm done, dear god, at last I'm done.
I cannot take the pain much more,
the voice who screams, my mind so sore.
So here I am, the gallant knight,
who has long since lost his final fight.
Here I am, my mind a flood,
painting pretty pictures with blood.
Aye, yes, my main theme in poetry is the mind. But the mind is the most poetic thing there is! How it breaks and twists and fumbles and struggles, how strong or how weak it can be. Very poetic indeed.