Psychological, Medical

People do get driven mad by living.
An illness of the mind they develop.
With insanity, thinking deceiving,
so a revised world living-in, set up.

It could very easily be fearful.
May be caused by presence of enemies.
Alienation become integral,
involving, without doubt, obscenities.

Maybe a reaction to all around,
craziness posing as normality.
Affecting person subtly and profound,
making viewpoint an abnormality.

When living in a madhouse, can act mad.
The society that in, just as bad.

The problem with dementia, to my mind,
is just when you think you’re able to cope
It sinks to another level, I find.
It goes downward. It is a downward slope.

Less remembered, and less coherent thought.
Reduced resilience to bad and sad.
New sorts of strange behaviour to report.
More susceptible, in mind, to a fad.

Has concern, but often not for themself.
When do, it is with distress and dismay.
Wandering in the night around the house.
Twittering in complaining sort of way.

If love and stay strong, then can care yet more.
And live with the slide-down of dementia.

What a time of fear and trepidation.
Of what, it seems, not too distantly off.
Expectation in my estimation.
The oncoming, not easily forgot.

Anticipation of the likelihood,
always discernible as there present,
at the back of my mind. It moves forward,
to give concern at its future extent.

Anxiety at time-limitation.
Realisation, not want realised.
Carry-on regardless, inclination.
Making allowances, as improvise.

But, madness and death have to be coped with.
For my inadequacies, please forgive.

Same old … same old …, allegedly, the same.
Each day claimed to be a repetition.
Similar, and because done before, plain.
A still life …, thought to be …, exhibition.

But the day’s actually different.
Each day here to be lived as a new one.
Not with a mind worn-out; more innocent.
Aspects, if as before, think ‘profusion’.

There will be ongoing living patterns.
Will be comfortable in the routine.
The hope is that nothing dreadful happens.
However, would still like a change of scene.

But may not, just yet, easily arrange.
So, Aladdin’s Lamp; old for new exchange.

Maybe I’m civilised. Maybe I‘m not.
I do endeavour to be non-violent.
But, not like to be scrutinised a lot.
I am safe, in a safe environment.

The feminist, Camilia Paglia,
said that women really should be aware.
Understand that, living with men, they are
with world’s most dangerous, having to share.

That creature is like cartoon character
from an old Batman story, called ‘Two-Face’.
One side; good, reliable. Can be more.
Other; controlling, aggressive, in place.

Me, of that gender, but try to be wise.
Is it enough, to be called ‘civilised’?

Over a lifetime, a lot can happen.
Be, what can be considered, successes.
Some, take a little bit to imagine.
May well be one or two that impresses.

Amount to a personal history.
May show some of a person’s endeavours.
But, only a clue in the mystery.
Like a bird’s life, by its coloured feathers.

Sort of triumphs, and upsets, intersperse.
Supply some ballast; what was called ‘bottom’.
The splendid touched heights. The bad got no worse.
But, in a way, all can be forgotten.

The old Buddhist twosome of ‘fame and shame’,
imposters, but been stuck around my name.

I do have quite an understanding brain.
Can make assumptions and suppositions.
With the reason that have, can ascertain,
assess, and make sensible decisions.

Understands, I think, a lot about me.
About my workings and limitations.
Aspects of me, psychologically.
What they are, and what the implications.

I do not have to be harsh with myself.
My mistakes and misadventures, forgive.
Can correct my course; not have to be forced.
Understand what is good in how to live.

Intelligent thinking has kept me sane,
and brought along an understanding brain.

Unable to effect change I would like.
I am limited to quite an extent.
Cannot even put up much of a fight,
although I know, in my mind I’m well meant.

I am restricted in what I can do.
Not in a position of importance.
I reside, taking care. That’s what I do.
Outside of that, not of much relevance.

I can vote, but that is tokenistic.
Writing to representative, useless.
Nothing can think of, opportunistic
to shake-up rulers, other than protest.

But unless rough, not pierce complacency.
Beyond me to act that dangerously.

I realise I was often unwell.
At times, seriously out of my head.
The sane me, the one who wished to rebel.
Yet, not keep focus; distracted instead.

Put in places where should have been aware.
So mentally lacking, I would say, ill.
Lost challenging edge, as if did not care.
What knew concealed, not the nous to reveal.

Lunch with arms traders. Tax haven visit.
At the corrupt City institution.
Morality. Did not insist on it.
Fearfulness, and sexual delusion.

A bit of hubris, naive, mind-lazy.
Back then, think of as being half-crazy.

There is sunshine. There is blue sky to see.
Grassy land, flower beds, hedges and trees.
Just below sight, a river flowing free.
Fresh air to breath-in, despite the cold breeze.

There is no significant disturbance.
There are sounds around, yet peace and quiet.
In the wider world, will be turbulence.
But here, there’s a solitude that’s private.

I realise I am recovering,
from the stresses and strains I’m suffering.
A way to ease them I’m discovering,
Is respite here, outside the labyrinth.

It is the nature of things. It is mine,
to recuperate, starting with sunshine.