Perched on the Edge Of...
It seems to you that
I’m perched on the edge of sanity
It may be cool to be
callous
But I never got
mistaken for cool very often
Maybe I’m dense
But I can’t
understand
Why something so bad
Happened to someone
so good
You don’t get what
you deserve
You get what you get
I still want to know
why
So I’m gonna keep
asking
Until I understand
And I’m never going
to understand
Until the day I die
Because I’m not
perched on the edge of omniscience
Or I’d figure out how
To give him back his
mind
~Cie~
Also sharing at The Reverie, where the prompt was to write a poem based on a news story.
For those who don't know the background on this, Malcolm Young, the founder and rhythm guitarist for AC/DC, has been placed in a long term care facility. He has Lewy Body Dementia. His short term memory is gone. He can't remember events that transpired mere minutes ago, and he doesn't know the people he loves best.
Cie's Notes:
To the person who (rudely) asked if this is now the Malcolm Young blog.
Yes. It is. Now go away.
I honestly don't write serious poetry unless I'm depressed or feeling something very deeply. I tend to write ridiculous stuff most of the time.
I'm feeling this very deeply.
Malcolm Young meant a lot to me, and to a lot of other people. Mostly, of course, to his family and friends, who are now deprived of his presence thanks to a horrifying disease.
I am not kidding when I say that he saved my life. My bipolar disorder was not properly diagnosed until I was nearly 40. I was badly bullied in my youth. Malcolm gave people the gift of something to take their mind off their troubles, and of being someone who was just a regular person who happened to make music that reached a lot of people. He was never a "rock star." He was just a really nice guy who happened to be a musician.
Malcolm struggled with addiction (alcohol) and depression during his life. So I related to him on that level too. I never became addicted to any substances, but I did drink heavily for quite some time. I also have a tendency towards other addictive behaviors, such as shopping and gambling.
I honestly don't think I'd be reacting this way if I found out he had cancer. I really don't think I'd be reacting this way even if I heard that he'd committed suicide. I'd be sad--demolished even--but it wouldn't leave me with the same sick to the core of my soul feeling that this does.
With the disease he has, he's already gone, but his body is still walking around. That is the most messed up shit ever. I hate dementia. I hate how it destroys lives. I hate how it destroyed this amazing life. I hate that he can't remember the things that are most important to him.
If you want to read my further thoughts on this matter, you can go here.
