A higher mind is open to the sky,
But heaven slams its gate with thunderclap:
Snotty nimbus echo the blasted cap,
And throw down lightning when the blown out eye
Offends no more. A hateful rain, like lye,
Pours from the ire: Mirrors the wrinkled flap
Of plum; mixes the scattered pit, with slap
Of wet-on-wet, before the bloating sigh...
The rain will never stop, the earth will flood,
The ground will turn into a soggy slime
Where slugs and roaches rule with putrefaction.
It seems the brilliant ones prefer the grime
To dismal skin; they find the world distracting --
BANG! -- Heads flare off a barrel: Mind in mud.
Adding your comment:
We had several quite lengthy discussions about this very subject, Julien. How I wish you could have found that elusive path out of the darkness and back into light. Ah, but you are dwelling within that light now, I know. I hope to encounter your fine spirit one day and be able to impart to you how very beloved you were among us. Rest in peace, Sparrow. 
