Waves of Madness, Waters of Tranquility is my best articulation of the way the mentally ill mind works. The water theme is given to portray how overwhelming the task of recovery can be, but also relaxing. One can be lost at sea, but find serenity in the oceans. This book speaks of the inner turmoil of the mentally ill, seeking to set the psyche free in poetic verse. I suffer from schizoaffective disorder. Utopian ideals are ever-present as I attempt to explain my situation. I have found my poetry to be a cathartic and therapeutic outlet to regain my composure in living. If I can reach just one soul, I can alter the course of society in whole. If I can change your mind about my kind, then it's plain to see we're both being set free.
About the Author :
Aaron Michael Sinay was born in Baltimore, Maryland, in 1977. He grew up in Columbia, MD, and attended Howard Community College, from which he graduated in the spring of 2004 with an Associate's degree in liberal arts. He also studied conversational Hebrew, Jewish Literature, history, and mysticism, at Baltimore Hebrew University. His poetry is the hand that reaches into the hole he falls into in life and pulls him out. He composes poetry on a near daily basis and performs at open mic once a week. His second book has been in the works for almost 20 years and is hopefully nearing completion. Aaron got his start composing poetry for greeting cards and then wrote for his own therapy. Aaron Michael Sinay was born in Baltimore, Maryland, in 1977. He grew up in Columbia, MD, and attended Howard Community College, from which he graduated in the spring of 2004 with an Associate's degree in liberal arts. He also studied conversational Hebrew, Jewish Literature, history, and mysticism, at Baltimore Hebrew University. His poetry is the hand that reaches into the hole he falls into in life and pulls him out. He composes poetry on a near daily basis and performs at open mic once a week. His second book has been in the works for almost 20 years and is hopefully nearing completion. Aaron got his start composing poetry for greeting cards and then wrote for his own therapy.
Review :
Waves of Madness, Waters of Tranquility
Waves of madness, waters of tranquility,
Random, strange thoughts, lost in liquidity.
As if dissolved in acid, they disappear.
Only through medication does the insanity become clear.
They cannot be silenced in liqueur, drugs or beer,
And they snatch up everything you hold dear.
Like a fire intense, they sear, they sear.
They float into mind like waves on the ocean surface,
With no correlation to gender or race,
Like rain droplets that sweep across the water in quiet rings,
As movement on a lake, nature, it sings.
A veil is pulled down over the brain,
And we are left isolated, and labeled insane.
With a vengeance it starts to drain,
And we, stripped of our intellect, are made plain.
Fresh taste of sweet lunacy, like sugar cane.
Fill of the Pill
To be cured is my will,
For I've had my fill of the pill.
I recognize I am ill,
But it bothers me still,
To see I've no choice, or a voice,
To speak my mind, of my kind,
I'm emotionally distraught,
And mentally ill, as I'm taught,
On me was insanity brought,
Freedom I sought,
A pawn, that's gone, to be wrought,
My tidings have gone for naught.
"The quiet mind dreams, while the criminal mind schemes.
They both try to hide the fact they're coming apart at the seams."
A Dear, Deer Friend
"A dear, deer friend was to be found in the woods,
Though I had set out to kill him, doing no good.
I walked into the forest of evergreens, given way to oak,
I knew not this deer's genius until he spoke.
Honeysuckle crept along the forest floor,
Until the dirt and tree bottoms could scarcely be seen anymore.
English Ivy was there as well,
With Lady Slipper Orchids in bloom, as if sprung by Tinkerbell.
Hollies to the left and right,
Dawn freshly arisen from night.
I saw the deer, and took a shot,
Went up to find the one I got.
A sharp piercing pain in my chest,
My heart sinks, as the bullet penetrates my vest.
I fall to the ground to find myself withdrawn,
Just then the deer scampers on.
I see a man, who walks up to me,
Places his hand on my chest, and heals the wound, magically.
He says, "It was I who intentionally shot at you.
I know now my aim was not true."
"Why?" I inquired, as I nervously perspired.
I lay down my head, shocked and tired,
Yet relieved momentarily I hadn't expired.
He said, "To teach you a lesson," as he transformed into a deer.
He continued to talk, though my mind was far from clear.
"Now the hunter is the hunted, and you know how it feels,
When you awaken from this dream it will still seem real."
I woke up to find I had tripped and fallen in a hole.
My gun had fired, out of control.
The hole in my vest and shirt was there, plain as day,
The blood was soaked in, but the wound had gone away.
I vowed never again to hunt for food, or sport,
And quietly said goodbye to my dear, deer friend in short."
