Dear Lord, Muse, Holy Spirit, The Secret Other, whichever disturbs my rest this night: I don’t care or want to write about the idea you have placed in my mind this late-night, into early morn.
The visitor to the mental institution is invited in to speak with the patient of his choice. He is led into a room of about ten patients, male and female. He notices an older male, that reminds him of a desperate hard core street person, sitting lonely staring out the window, at a bleak, dreary rural winter scene, in the Northeast of America.
The visitor slowly drags a metal chair across the vinyl floor and sits close to the patient. He asks the patient, “Why are you here?” the patient replies, ” I couldn’t stand and take another loss of a pet or a loved one on this evil death planet. Everything, everyone that I have ever loved has been taken from me; I just don’t see the point in going on.” Continuing, he said, “Every morn, every night , some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to the endless night.” Continuing, he said, “My life feels like the endless night, all the time.”
The visitor asks, “What are you blankly staring at?” The patient replies, “I see squirrels and birds, gathering around me as I throw out peanuts, pecans, walnuts, corn and seed, as I watch them so happily enjoying the food, this scene is my one comfort.” The visitor says he must go but asks if he can visit again, the patient says yes. Frankie The Earthman.