Not Diving, But Drowning Poem by Michael Buhagiar

In psychiatry term in medical school
There were some who genuinely loved the schizophrenics
In their condition of perpetually living the Fool
Which Freud nor drugs nor volts could fix.

—Not the victims of a personal alien hostility
Who had buried an axe, as may be, in a head;
But those who had grasped the live electricity
And stuck fast screaming, and still felt its dread.

To the ice-bound fields of sequestered valleys
Those lovers were born, who to dig now yearn,
Yet the livewire cables still lie deep out of reach.

While others, they have heard, make daily sallies
To drink of that fire, and their flesh does not burn,
And the earth as they rise tumbles into the breach.