My Wild Christmas Rose

This poem is dedicated to my middle daughter, who was diagnosed with Schizophrenia with MPD, and the three young children who are just as much a victim of this debilitating disorder as she.

Face as bright as any sunrise,
Hair as dark and tangled as the night,
Has my wild Christmas Rose.

Most days
She just sits there

In that corner
By the window
In a straight-backed wooden chair

Slowly rocking
Back and forth
To rhythms she alone can hear

And while the shadows of the passing day
Play across her velvet skin

My heart breaks yet again
And I cling
To the husks of hope and fear

As the light of madness burns in her eyes
And sears me with its fire.