Sad poems

The Mad

While the world is running around me,

doing...... something,

I sit here and stare at the little beautiful, worthy things.

Mesmerized by the hum of the bees,

the delicacy of a flower,

the mutual help they give each other.

The Wise Ones call me different names

mad, mental, retard or crazy, because I am not like them,

and.... I don't care.

I don't know what am I wearing or how I look like,

because I don't have a mirror to make me judge me.

I enjoy and they don't understand.

Like I don't understand what they are chasing.

I sit here talking to my soul sitting next to me,

while they think I am hallucinating and delusional.

They don't even know that they used to have a soul too.

They ignore the soul and the soul ignores them.

And they call me mad and put me in a special place..............

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i felt like this belonged here..