Speaking with Sanity

Speaking with Sanity


Something in the moonlight foretells of trouble:

an event coming to threaten my stability-bubble;

a happening that would abandon me beneath masses of rubble;

to locate me would be an assignment for the Hubble.


Something in the scent of the air hints at collapse;

this would occur when my Sanity, once again, snaps.

My Sanity is a hotly-contested issue

by the voices within my head (who speak only that which is true).

Then my Sanity debates with them also:

how are the voices informed? He and I want to know.

Sanity and I are friends, acquaintances from years past;

we know all about all about each other,

but the words I spoke to him last

were that his existence depended on the actions of another.

This he could not quite understand –

he was already there; he was, after all, not created by a minion.

I had overplayed my poorly-reinforced hand;

I had caused obstruction between this and the next pinion.


I had said words planted by an authority-grasping boy; irrational –

grappling for control of me like a grounded, desperate fish gasping for air,

he chased me down as a ravenous fox a hare;

my capture and confinement would be simply sensational.

 speaking with sanity

Sensation is something which I definitely am not.

I am hardy and mighty enough with what I fairly and innocently encompass.

He is more interested in things cunningly and dishonestly added to his lot;

his ill-placed influence is one I can not possibly miss.


And so Sanity and I discuss matters far above anyone’s head.

I would rather do so, in any case, than retire to the stifling reclusion of my bed.


Speaking with Sanity is a pastime of mine;

whether I still have any left is neither this side nor beyond the questioning line.
© Annalinde Louw 2005

This piece was written on 27 October 2005
I found this image using http://www.google.com.