People|Fred Mount Photography
Ice. Caught in fall, mid-air.
Hear me rage.
Ignoble fates, tracing the hatred raw,
Relentless on the page.
Yours is the pause,
The question bled upon the edge.
Mine – final push
To purge all off the ledge.
Once noble hands
My deepest knowledge clawed.
Of serpent tongues
Unyielding rave applaud
Where torture found a way
To be refined,
Splitting my soul in two,
It dredged my mind.
In madness lost
I watch the crown’s power
And paint its tragic hold
Upon the hour.
Hear the heartbeat drum
And shatter silence
A bard of old – stirred up
In crippled violence.
vic briggs 
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I like your use of words to capture the intensity of feeling in this poem – nice shift too from an interal to an external perspective. Insanity? A subjective concept; who could deny that the Self is correct, and the masses misled?
Thank you, Chris. There are several recurrent themes in my poetry, and this is one of them. I tried to capture some of the disjointedness and ambiguity of both inner and outer world, in part obscured – in part reflected by one another. I love your question.