​​​On the Asylum Road
                                                                                                  Charlotte Mew     1869 – 1928
I am so tired, so tired.
I see too much. I comprehend
the world at once, God's hand in it,
my own room, and the end.
I know too much; I have seen too much.
I am so sick, so sick, so sick.
O Death, come quick, come quick, come quick.

I couldn't really call it a cure.
It didn’t heal my sickness,
but it set me free
It allowed me
to find a way to escape.
A way in which I could express my pain.

Autopsy Report
                                                                         From a report in a Dallas newspaper
Almost a year after the last time he had spoken to anyone
the skeleton of a 54-year-old recluse has been found
kneeling beside his bed and clutching a bible.
Wesley Whalon had become a hermit after his third marriage failed.
He had made a visit to his sister on Christmas Eve
and said he would contact her later.
He never did.
His body was discovered by a man who wanted to buy the house.
She
What is it that you want from life?
He
That which
the touch  -  the sound  -   the taste   -   the smell   -   the vision
of your
skin    -   voice   -   lips   -   hair  -   eyes
can never provide
She
What is it that you do not want from life?
He
That which would control
the touch   -   the hearing   -  the taste   -   the smell   -   the vision
of my being

​

Aloïse Corbaz    1886-1964

Alone in his world of self-awareness
Wesley Whalon died of language

                                   The Watch                                          
                                                                                                              Frances Cornford        1886 –1960
I wakened on my hot, hard bed;
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went        
Like my continual discontent,
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick;
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
               Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick.               

Inside the Asylum
Poetry is a form of literary expression that uses language to evoke emotions.
It creates imagery and conveys ideas in a condensed and often rhythmic form.
It can address any subject matter, from love and nature to politics and social issues,

making it a powerful tool for personal and artistic expression.
                                                                                                                                                                                                            Artificial Intelligence         Timeless                                                

Henri Matisse      1869 - 1954

An artist
can fly, run and rejoice.
He is free and nothing holds him back.
As he paints,
his act of creation
releases him from himself.