Click here to read the next poem.   Collection of Poems by Christopher Major     TAKEN AWAY A room of small-talk where passed cigs seem to jimmy lips, odd jokes that drop to pools of silence and ripple awkward laughter. Then the car, that fat black full-stop before a sentence of church and tears, where a coffin floats its minus sign, poses a question doctors, and now priests, never adequately answer.       MODERN WAYS Years ago, it was priests and prayer, candles and crosses, whispers of demons and devils. Now, it is doctors and diagnosis: bipolar, mania, psychosis causing the snarling vomiting and vile behavior. No asylum either, just a community bungalow where they go into a garden and scream, and scream, and scream; let off enough steam for hell to be distilled, concentrated, then dropped behind neat clipped hedges.     © Copyright, Christopher Major   Click here to read Chris Major’s Brief Bio. Click here to read the next poem.