Saturday, June 18, 2016

A poem byn Gary G Pelow, House of Diamonds

There is the house of dirt and poverty, a house that the mentally ill often find themselves residing in, even in the west which is supposed to be a house of diamonds, a house of plenty.  The invisible ones wander the streets with no home or hearth.  Everyone around them seems to be rich and in wealth, it always seems like that when you have nothing of your own,  The jails and prisons are filled with the empty hearted,  those with no hope but to see their jailers as their only company.  The house of diamonds is not for them, it is for the healthy and sane, those of sound mind.  I feel fortunate in the house of diamonds, I am not rich or filled with wealth, but I have what I need, work to keep me busy, hobbies to distract me from pain of any kind, I have food on the table and a place to live, I take my medications as expected and I live in the house of diamonds not completely devoid of its wealth.  I wish I could shake some sense into the mentally ill in this house to do as I do, to take their medications, see the doctors and keep your appointments, these are the things that keep you off the streets and out of the prisons and jails, I wish I could yell at them to do these things, these things that require effort to maintain but are more pleasant than the house of filth and dirt in the middle of the house of diamonds.  The mentally ill supposedly have civil rights, if they are not dangerous to self or others they have the civil rights to be ignored and homeless and hungry or in jail, to me that is an odd definition of civil rights and freedom.

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