Dysthymia

D don’t mind the melancholic meanderings
of my psyche, festooned fervent ranting’s;
water-coloured lines distilled over time.
Y         you see what you want to see.  I
have no control of yours.  my only comfort is
the willingness to breathe life into otherwise
contrived lives.
S          see (ing) through opaque, leaded glass
cathedrals; coloured splendor giving
rise to the muse in me.  the sun in words
rises in the east with the future
and time.  I cannot see past the red
hue on the horizon.
T          the yew – an ancient tree.  synonymous
with dead wood; revered branches
of old. wisdom once gained, lost long ago
on mass hysteria.  I digress.
H         hunger pains
perverting the cruelness of lust rage and longing;  layering, serves
to cushion psychic blows.
Y         yearning only serves to belittle
normality; a figment of the imagination.
feeling isolated from the masses is probably
a blessing in disguise.
M         madness,  inviting
a semblance of restored faith to jaded
emotional jigsaw puzzles; sequestered
identities, like my idiosyncrasies. mundane
existence is tangible evidence that
conflict earns respect and
honour akin to martyrdom.  subjugation
I           intelligence? is nothing more than that of
the Descartes and Hippocrates of yester-world,  doomed.
archangel’s like Michael are
condemned by their own father;  there are no
mother’s in sight.
A         a deliberate oversight in my book.
It doesn’t matter at the end of the day,
mental illness is like God,  everywhere
but it’s only called dysthymia on a bad day

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Excerpt First Published by Like Minds Like Mine, 2010, ReTHiNK the Meaning of Madness, a Respond-Response Community Art Project, ‘Ethosphere Exhibition’, exhisbited at Te Karenga Gallery, Auckland