BALADIN’S DREAM ~ PART IV
“THE THEATRE OF THE ABUSED”
Originally written ~ October 2, 1991 – Edited and posted ~ February 19, 2012 – Abridged and re-posted ~ December 31, 2019 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective
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BALADIN’S DREAM ~ PART IV
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THE
THEATRE OF THE ABUSED
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Raw emotion, an open wound – sore to touch and feeling
That time has drawn a veil or laid a skin and caused the sounds
To mutter inaudible and blurred by bright light and anger
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An anguish that looks, enquires – those questions raised against the darkest backdrop
A curtain of certainty within the Theatre of the Abused
Where patient hands tend the broken and bloodied and patient people listen
To sordid tales true and set, moist with tears or wet and daubed with blood
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The searching lights that probe, outline many failing thoughts
Where children’s laughter once would be but now is lost to the grey
Or faint in hope or sense, they wait for the water cold to stir and a new light to invade their memories
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If sad we must be, then sad and mourn we with the cold night wind
That frail flesh that gave its heat in dark despair
No truth can sooth the marvellous mind of reason so teased by fate and the chance of evil’s choice
Or left drawn and limp on the wheel of human pain
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Only personalities special touch can sense or divine such healing medicine
To calm the tortured night, the warm, tropic breeze of feeling light
A gaze, embrace, a kissed poultice pressed and moistened by summer sun
The evening dew which lays heavy on the brow of many dazed and wounded
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Only personality, which loved and needed takes the broken bones so brittle
In small moments, warms the embers to fire and spit back energy into emotions corpse
To confront the taped, stored scars which lay in steel cold drums in damp, forgotten basement buildings
Labelled by a system even faded, lost, as never meant to use or aid the bearer
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Personality speaks a language so rare, we have heard it only in a distant dream
Where soft words engage our earliest memories to instruct us and enlighten
This world a bigger place, where part of universal chemistry we once stepped
Unfettered by any sadness the decreasing skyline offers
The earth’s choice, singular, selfish, insular yet not divisive
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We, born of personality – a person!
We, born of sense, reason and love – a living person and Baladin only weary, turns slowly in his sleep
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writtenbyedenbray-02.10.1991
edited-19.02.2012-abridged-31.12.2019
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#Authors note ~ I determine to write what I feel and what really matters! I could write of flower-strewn valleys. Of powder-puff clouds scudding across cerulean skies above green fields where fattened cows wander contentedly beneath snow-capped mountains, lakes and gorges. Of places only the rich and the famous may vacate to squander their loose change but then there is Baladin my ageless companion, my friend and advisor, my alter-ego. He is a Leonardo cartoon, an unfinished Hemingway, a lesser-known album by Radiohead, a Picasso drawing one Carlos Garcia found in a box in a Madrid attic. Baladin has seen it all and more. More than most anyway and yet he still emerges in the sunlight, blizzard or in the rain and steps up for yet more of this tortured, human experience.
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edenbray ☢︎ - a BEAT POET 