Messages from My Soul

The Demon of Thought

THE DEMON OF THOUGHT

You wake first a thought in a deepest room

In your mind, and let it your soul consume

Until it grows, until it grows,

Then 'twill be burning, direly yearning

That you give shape to its formless churning

Until it devours you, until it devours you.

Then 'twill sing of sweetness and implore

You unleash it, till your tormented core

Would finally listen, would finally listen.

Then 'twill sing of macabre elation

Gloating, gloating o'er your dire frustration

Until you break, until you break.

You take the weary quill but each word written

Has that oppressive thought's ego smitten

"Imperfection!" it cries, "Imperfection!" it cries,

Then you discard the words and start again

Till you that demon appease, but then the pen

Begins to shatter, begins to shatter.

Then the mind cracks from 'neath the weight

Of the treach'rous depths you contemplate

And fritters away, and fritters away.

Then you rack it more until it bled

To sate the spirit which swims unfed

In your heart, in your heart.

But lo! as if from some forgotten dream

The right words come in a rushing stream

Unto the paper, unto the paper.

And the incoherence binds into a chain

Of written steel, woven sound and sane

From madness's anarchy, from madness's anarchy.

The demon with himself the words imbues

With himself as the beauteous form does fuse

Inseparably e'er, inseparably e'er;

Satisfied, the demon, now angel, radiates a smile

And now the crush'd and ripp'd psyche meanwhile

Can rest in peace, can rest in peace.