Image courtesy of Howard Ignatius. Shared via a Creative Commons license.

—-

Madman

The room reeks of unwashed clothes and foods long past new,
Harry shuffles around, hands wildly slicing the air again.
Trembling- he is a shivering winter tree out the pane.
His bobbing head with flaking patches where something lush once grew,
Mumbles his troubles and grins – charred enamel – his joys,
Tracing deep circles into the carpet with his boots.
Forget-me-not knots in his beard hanging low, setting roots.
To the empty space ahead he babbles his thoughts, a useless noise.

Perhaps his fool’s utterances are a mere lonely cry
And his muddled ideas are profound conclusions.
His darting eyes and shaky hands, fear induced by the answers he’s found.
But his staggering tread makes it easy to deny,
When he speaks his words of confusion.
Old Harry’s intentions, a misconception, madness or mentally sound?

—-

 

Leigha-Ceres de Roche, age 17,  is a student at Bishops Anstey High School in Trinidad and Tobago. She is passionate about language and enjoys writing poetry and works of fiction. She is an avid animal lover and is a member of the Trinidad and Tobago Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.