Sickness And Art - Poem by Lucius Furius
Of course you're right in saying that I'm sick:
No healthy person wants to kill himself....
But those psychiatrists' pills
'd kill me just as surely as this gun:
They'd kill the me that feels.
You ask how I'm doing.... I fear, not well....
By all objective measures I should be content,
but the heart mocks objectivity.
I cling to life by the thinnest of threads:
My art is the thread by which I cling....
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Sickness And Art by Lucius Furius
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl