MADMAN

I'm thinking now in rhyme and verse
perhaps I'm going mad...
or fallen prey to poet's curse
a notion I find sad.

When driving down the road alone
ideas flood my mind.
Poems, rough, bereft of hone
jumble through my skull and grind.

I hit the brakes, park on the shoulder
use a notebook to catch the muse
which I can't stand to just let molder.
Is this some kind of brain abuse?
----------------
Now 'bout a month on down the road
I find I'm out of work
by a fault entirely mine :
my poetry had made me shirk.

There's no time to seek a job,
I've only time to write.
(I pawned grandfather's gold watch fob)
so great is my obsession's might.

And now that it is getting late
I'm finally alone and free.
The one who took me for her mate
can no longer stand to look at me.

So I sit and scratch out verse
and wave off moving men
and think "Oh well, it could be worse.
At least I still have pad and pen."

At last I'm free to write and rhyme
(with crayon upon the padded walls)
madness has left me lots of time
why is it...that my......hand now...............stalls?