It is not so hard to comprehend

Why Sylvia in that oven met her end

Even though yes I know

She was too young to go

And stole so much potential beauty

But was it asking of her a fair duty

To live in a mind tossed up and down

Until it lies useless upon the ground

It’s this disease that has no cure

And only a few can truly endure

Without either raging or crying

Or grand ideas nobody’s buying

Sad is the clear embarrassing truth

When one realizes mania was the root

And she didn’t have the answers after all

The pieces that seemed to fit begin to fall,

There’s help for it in our enlightened time,

Even if the results are much less than fine

But the pills would have surely made her sane

She could have lain still with nothing to bring

And sleep like an innocent soul

Because the cure is good but takes a toll

What one must give up is some of the art,

For a chance for a normal life to start,

She was given a towering talent,

But gifts will not relent,

And all chances at life are crazily bent,

And then there come babes and a gent,

Until all she had was utterly spent.

Former print journalist, former mayor, retired law enforcement officer. Writing about politics and government along with random personal essays.

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