Here's a poem I wrote. I actually kind of like it...unlike a lot of the poetry I write. The entire poem is really a metaphor. What are your opinions on it, and what do you think it means? The Asylum by Graham We all reside in the hallways of the asylum. Well, most of us, at least. I know a couple of people— You know the ones I’m talking about— Those just bland enough to beat the draft— None of them are here. They, the builders of our dear institution The architects of this square and uninventive place we call our final resting place, They’re at home, in their bedrooms—safe, warm. Blue skies. Green trees. White clouds. Yellow sun. Sometimes, when we do well--or plainly, rather, They let us sleep in the bedrooms Or just rooms, rather A bed would imply some sense of comfort—a sense of home. Let's not confuse our residence with our home. Home. I suspect our home is quite different from theirs-- Skies of orange, red, purple, violet, violence, blood. My clouds are gray clouds. My sun is a kaleidoscope. John—he bunks next to me—he says his sun is white. I suspect he really must mean the moon and I tell him so. He rolls his eyes at me and pulls away I wonder…Are we all just John's and Graham's? Were we born as strangers--doomed to live as strangers and die as strangers? I gaze down the various hallways, the hallways of the asylum, Never changing landscape. Just cots. Plain. White. Hard. Repeat. Much too long of a hallway to find our way back Ahhh, back to where, you ask? A place forgotten. Broken images Memories much too shattered to reconstruct Giraffe--Blue Map—and chopsticks, I think? I wonder how they connect and briefly consider going back But who wants to go back? John’s back hurts from the hard floor, And mine too. Besides that, though None of us mind it much. What’s to mind? They may have put us here, but we could leave at anytime Anytime. We choose not to Not because we don't want to It's just--the only thing worse than a hard floor is a hard everything And everything is hard beyond the walls of the asylum. And it’s quiet here, you’ll find—calm, sedated. Just swallow, drink and repeat. Swallow. Drink. Repeat. Swallow. Drink. Repeat. Here, all skies are blue Here, my sun is yellow.
I'll admit i don't often like poetry like this, but this was fantastic. I liked these lines the most, they really scream "truth" to me: "They may have put us here, but we could leave at anytime Anytime. We choose not to Not because we don't want to It's just--the only thing worse than a hard floor is a hard everything And everything is hard beyond the walls of the asylum."
