helping hand

The man committed himself to the asylum last week
he had no choice really, the schizophrenia took a hold of him too soon
he wept to his mother but there was no turning back
he made the call, it was 1975, the only place he could turn to was the doctors, he thought
he could also have to quit drinking, not that he was much of one, but even one beer would turn him astray, not like the old days on set of some television show he didn't know much about
where the crew would finish the shoot and jump to the nearest dive bar on the west coast of Santa Monica

Once committed he was asked to fill out a questionnaire, maybe he was a genius but he didn't know it yet, maybe just maybe
who would have thought, but no, no he wasn't a genius, just a regular guy, much like the rest, drinking their worries away, the worries of a family life, a virgin wife and an only son, this was his life he was drinking away
he needed help in the most direct way, medication or dead by 35
he could have slit his wrists, or poisoned himself, but he made the call
they saved his life, just from a few words and lending a helpful ear

he called me just the other day
on a day pass from the ward
he sounded happy and joyful
not a care in the world, the man is safe now
safe from himself, in the shadows to save another
but how much can one help another, when everyone needs a helping hand