They think he's mad
He thinks they're mad
For thinking he is
He makes it easier for them
When he talks to himself
It's the best conversation
He gets to hold
The voices in his head
The children of his brain
Amaze him
So he smiles
For knowing the potency
Of his thoughts
So he retreats to his cottage
To his old typewriter
And pounds his thoughts away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem