Senseless

Looking at the voices sadly
I wonder if it was always thus,
OR if in some fantasy world
people hear voices
and they see things

My imagination screams
at the absurd ideas,
at the very notion,
that noises could not be seen
in tones of blue, red, and yellow

Instead seeing things,
as if eyes can pick out colours
instead of hearing them.
I hear the b flat of the field,
The cottage a clear c sharp.

And what if I could read a poem
instead of smelling the words, the page.
The box of reason and science
shouting in deep blues
'IT CANNOT BE SO'.

I imagine a leg being an object
and not a taste,
teasing my senses into suggesting
I can feel my leg,
taste an apple.

And like a cat
I ponder on the buried treasure
Of bizarre crazy thoughts,
lunatic ideas,
My silent purring mind ponders

A place where people taste food,
touch things,
smell odours,
see their world,
hear the sound of screaming.