“You’ll end up in a loony bin”
My mother used to say
She told me this perpetually
And so my mind would stray
No wonder I’m a nutter
Who stumbles through each day
Not listening to a single word
That anybody says
Pulling faces, raising smiles
Being just plain daft
Being simple all the while
Adrift on my own raft
On a sea of complication
I struggle with my brain
Imagining all sorts of things
Like puddles made by rain
I step so very timidly
In case I fall apart
I have a guilt stained imagery
Imprinted on my heart
I mean to do the right thing
When I have a loony trip
I mouth off something randomly
And shoot from off my hip
So maybe what my mother said
Suggested my demise
From a little boy with a life to lead
To one with tear stained eyes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A reminder of once said, but rings true to me. Enjoyed.