yuuo: (Can somebody help me?)
We'll start the week this year with a poem from my wife, describing the experiences I've related to her over the years. (This is in part to buy me time to do actual posts I've been promising. Good grief, at least I only have a week and not an entire month like breast cancer.)


Sounds Of Silver
By [personal profile] kuchenhexe

Isolation in a crowd is loneliest of all
Amid all the voices, whispers rise and fall
People press around you, faceless in a haze
If there's a method in a madness, then method's surely crazed.

Perhaps if you're a half step in a world where rain falls up,
You see what should yet never did sip from comprehension's cup.
Sad but true, far more are blinded, fully turned away,
Cloaked and draped in silver fog, dissolving in the gray.

From the cacophony jangle of a tumultuous crowd,
To the low insidious whispers when the silence is so loud,
Colors can be lovely, the silver fog can seem to be melody divine
But even Sirens are serene as you sink that final time.

As you hear the sound of silver, there's an echo of distress,
Schizophrenia is a burden, and its struggle gives no rest.
Because if you'll open up your eyes and listen close,
The sound of silver is repeating the call of the SOS's note.

Hear us, help us, don't forget us, tossed carelessly aside.
Put quality of life within our reach and bridge the fog's divide.
We're not the misconceptions that Hollywood likes to hear,
Money and tickets hand over fist preying on social fears.

Fund research to find new drugs to help us stabilize,
So we might leave the land of fog and have productive lives.
In this sound of silver, hear our cry, the SOS distress.
Don't sweep us under and forget us, we try our very best.

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