II

In this valley that knows nothing but sorrow and hail

I marched battered, hands over skull to salvage my brain.

They said take that bridge to the shelter of sanity

it collapsed I crashed into a river of arcane symbols.

Now on these shores only walls and signposts largely faded

no hills or depressions no constellations to find my way.

Must even the beautiful fresco of my mind be reduced

to a scrawl on my vandalised map to a scream.