A madman's manifesto

Behind these walls I've worked night and day; 
Beyond that door they are built with clay. 
There's a dead weight on my leaden-neck—
The pen has dried, and my tongue is tied, 
The madman has created his mad creations behind that door. 
"What monster have I made today?"
What victor has that mouth to say? 
Coughs—coarse and dry—
Inhaling twigs by twigs, 
And there they sprouted verses and rhymes—
There they scratched sonnets 
With words like "thee," "thou," and "thine." 
The world rained-away anyway—
And he—soaked of death—has learnt to decay.

Dale Chou
2001-10-16