Poem from a MadmanPoem of a MadmanPoem from a Madman
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"I'm an inspector, a plant,
a truth seeker and a thief.
I've built eight war machines,
and I've played great music."
A madman speaks softly in the dark
perhaps to himself, perhaps to his shadow.
"You are not me, and I am not you,"
says the lunatic to a stranger.
"I know not who or what you are,"
the stranger replies, "so leave me be."
Silence falls over the pair
like the curtain on an endless stage.
At this, the eccentric laughs.
Many scenes ago that humble man walked onto the stage,
and in a corner was a girl, distraught and forlorn.
Such anguish, such emotion,
and with no way to escape.
The man took her to a bench
and wiped away her burning tears.
There he cleaned her troubled mind.
Every thought, every worry,
every secret, and every woe;
he listened and guided her,
but he wanted no reward.
The rewards were all for the girl
who he had begun to care for.
Day after day they met,
forever stuck on that vast stage.
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