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.