My mental health companion…! (Poem: 11.6.2020)
The afternoon was grim, and grey,
while walking down a country road;
lost in thoughts of recent days,
my movements hunched with heavy load.
Announced beneath oppressive clouds,
That beat the mighty sun,
At last, by throwing back his shroud,
I met the Mad Chameleon.
—
‘Hark!’ said he,
‘Good day my sweet,
How lovely that we now should meet
Please don’t mind me, I’ll take a seat,
Upon your weary shoulders.’
‘And who are you,
my green-medallioned friend,
who greets me with such levity?’
‘Why I am you, and now I’ll lie,
Upon this spot unseen by eyes,
And ever more until we die,
I’ll be your last companion.’
From whence he came I’ll never know,
Though in some song I’d heard his name,
Perhaps by chance, by winds that blow,
He spoke to them, like me, the same.
—
Like some disturbed anathema, he calls,
No matter time or day,
And even Heaven’s mighty halls,
His essence burns away.
And almighty Hell, with demons wrath,
would welcome him at home,
But such is not that devil’s way,
Alas, he acts alone.
Day after day, he’s been with me,
Night to night he’s never slept,
Morning on morning, through time’s wide sea,
And evermore, his promise kept.
—
‘I know you change,’
I once observed,
‘Is there a reason why?’
‘It’s in my nature, you bloody fool,
it’s what we chameleons do!’
And with his scorn,
He changed his form,
To a violent baby blue,
With greenish flecks along his back.
His dark eyes,
Never changing,
Never moving,
Never caring.
‘Alright! Alright!’ I cried,
As people round me stared,
‘Just back off OK, I’m sorry!’
He turned his head as if in worry,
His movements pre-prepared,
‘Just fuck off! Leave me be!’
‘I hate you!
Wait…
Don’t go,
I need you…’
—
His colour changed again, at length,
To a creeping, sickly yellow,
Insipidly insidious, draining strength,
Pallid, pale and sallow.
An albatross, it once was said,
Hung round the Mariner’s neck,
His painted ship, and weary head,
A hollow, lifeless wreck.
Well so it be with chameleon’s tears,
That make the great bells toll,
And changing colours, through the years
Paint, slowly, the fractious whole.
‘You really won’t leave, me, will you?’
‘No.’ He said,
Sadly,
As the yellow turned to gold.
AHF Writes 