The Mind is a Fickle Thing

By: Jacob La Mar

O when will I ever escape from this,

Self-made mental prison I’m in,

I made it myself and I stay in it willingly,

While every second of everyday the walls, close in.

This prison is my curse,

It is my sanctuary too,

I hide within its solid walls,

But get hidden more than I choose.

I want a shield from the hurt,

Which the walls provide,

But the silence from these walls,

Only confide from the inside.

I hear many voices,

They make me feel I’m not alone,

But the self behind the noise,

Is only named as an echo.

And the echo only says,

What’s already been said,

Since the only self to say,

Is the say that’s in my head,

I am alone.

I am alone.

Corridors branch off from this,

Prison-like chamber,

The cold drafts from these hallways,

Suck away happiness, purpose, anger.

Leaving me only loneliness,

The painful pang of unknown,

As empty as my surroundings,

I hear the echo.

I am alone,

I am alone,

"O solid walls,

What is life outside this prison,

Are there others out there,

Who were born to talk, only to listen,

Am I the only one who travels,

Through a world with such a maze,

An amazing, wonderful,

Woeful, and dull place.

Answer me solid wall,

If I’m to be locked in your confines,

Than shouldn’t walls take liberties,

To ease a taunted mind."

But there will be no answer,

No crack of a mouth will break the stone,

The only reply, an echo,

I am alone,

I am alone.