The Ramblings of a Madman

The Madman

They said he talked in poetry
A man so old he could not see
His eyes were shut his skin was grey
And on a narrow bed he lay.
His arms were fastened to his chest
Belts of leather hooked to a vest
That bound him lifeless and so still
Restricting movement and free will.
I sat beside him on a chair,
And brushed my fingers through his hair.
His voice was frail but his thoughts were clear
And he spoke in poetry his words to hear.
He gave no name and was old like time,
And I wrote the words he spoke in rhyme.