• Rate this poem
User Review
5 (7 votes)
FavoriteLoadingAdd to favorites

Mr Fry

written by: Steve Pearson



"Wrong question",
There ain't no why.
The mind plays
Its own game,
Rendering blame
Or reason,
Certainty is,
When the sun will rise,
Seasons change,
They're all the same,
It's what we know,
But the mind plays
Its own game.
Off we go,
Living lives,
The only way we can,
Happy in the days of sun
Little expected,
No suggestion,
No reason,
No blame,
No why,
"Wrong question".
The mind plays
Its own game.



In a disarmingly honest interview a few years ago, British comedian, actor, writer and presenter Stephen Fry talked about his struggles with mental health as a sufferer of bipolar disorder. During the interview, in which he admitted to recently considering suicide, he was asked, why?  "Wrong question" was his reply.  The complexity of the human brain renders such questions meaningless, as the mind will play its own game.

Series Navigation<< StrengthThe Suicide >>
Steve Pearson

Steve Pearson

JUNE 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
That's me at the front of the photo. I'm an atheist, socialist, humanist, poet and soon to be novelist. From here to there and a lot of shit in the middle. That's life.
Steve Pearson

Latest posts by Steve Pearson (see all)

This publication is part 4 of 10 in the series Mental Health: The Diary of a Broken Mind
Read previous post:
Discord written by Sunil Sharma at Spillwords.com

Discord written by: Sunil Sharma @drsunilsharma   The horns blast, shattering like glass the ear drums in the manic cities...