A Subtle Insanity Poem by Bryan Riley

Sound the gong;
strike the
funeral drum
In the casting
of stones and
the rattling of
bones, fences
are broken and
futures are sold

People will want a
piece of you for
whatever reasons
they conjure

'Let the death-man pass'

Tortured genius:
Madness is but a
hair's breadth away
Pain arrives in
crimson bands
Bright electric pulses
dim the vision

Crazy, but not so
anyone would notice

The procession winds
down, the mourners
take their leave
The drum resounds-
one last time
: it echoes across
the empty field
The stones are cast again
Still, nothing.
Just the labored
sound of breathing- soon
it, too, fades away...