To the lyre of my heart, a rhyme echoing,
No clear origin or end to the strain singing.
A deep and deadly violence,
In me invoked tones of silence.
For days worried these faint noises,
A myriad range of voices.
Mistake not for hallucinating schizophrenia,
Err not for deluding paranoia.
My struggle for a sturdy verse,
Not to make matters worse,
Finally wove a stanza terse.
