Kierkegaard and Nietzsche,
Sartre, Camus and de Beauvoir,
Kafka and Heidegger,
Existentialist progenitors repudiating science for something more,
In theories now grown up,
In but one thing,
Loosely describing humanity as having,
Reality and a freedom of experience,
Which defies the existence of objective value,
What of a mind run amuck?
What of senility?
How pray tell would these forebears explain these conditions?
How would they explain the captivity of a mind abandoned of reason?
Exempt from rationality?
Imprisoned by neurons misfiring?
What would they say today?
How would this change existentialism?
The inane insecurities,
That like a rasp,
Attack the very core of experience,
And secrete powerful subconscious demands,
Holding dynamic a mind descending into itself,
Revealing little of objective value or experience,
For having lost ones marbles,
Or a portion therein,
Is no choice as may be suggested,
But rather the tyranny of that misunderstood possession,
All humans imbued,
Body, mind and soul,
Which when run away,
Reveals the faults of these theories,
That a distressed and depressed mind,
Is in fact victim of reality?
Though warden of freedom,
This tempered existence is stressed to the point of despair,
Of personal experience,
Is the Black Dog,