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It was once a scene, oft repeated,

a drifting mental contact with others.

It brought grins and laughs, and made

it stand out, with in the crowd.

Held tight, to the chest, as not

to be seen, in any other light,

than humor, not humor, wit,

a wit that at times jumped the tracks

and roared through the wilderness.

Till eyes were wide with fear

screams would echo, and sobs could be heard.

Just joking, just holding a vigil for those

who are not with us, all the time.

A vigil for those who are among us and

hiding behind the mask of normalness

a average, a careful step, for when alone

the mask does no good, just the pills, the pills

doctor doctor where are the pills, the blue ones

it chases away the others, and the persons of doubt and fear.

Where are the red ones, to cage the animals, the snakes and rats.

Where are the green ones, to stop the urges and knifes, shiny

Where are the black ones, that bring relief and sleep then

dreams, so fluid and lucid the walk is with the name.

My name, your name, it makes no difference,

Just awake and hide and not let anyone know.

Learn more about this author, Kevin J. Putnam.
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