Creative Madness

We marvel At the genius of madness Gush over its select few Brilliant stars that shine a bit brighter Through eyes that see the unseen. Their talent unbridled and raw Craftsman of unparalleled weaving They fill our minds and hearts With laughter, wonder and awe. We applaud them—we adore them Their gifts set our souls afire. They, our privileged artisans Their serenity often ruffled, and disturbed. We witness their surging creativity But is there a cost to shine so bright? Is there a debt bought for such privilege? Or is madness the price we assert. To us it seems the noise grows louder and louder Until their peace is drowned out. Perhaps the work of “tortured geniuses” Awakens spurts of madness that create a space to be filled. Are they attempting to tame their ferocious mind By falling into an addict’s bubble? Committing destruction against their souls Loneliness is their constant companion. Helpless, we watch them, predicting their demise Watch them spiral into decline Spinning through addiction and struggle Until they succumb to a grave end. Too soon, we say, They’ve gone much too soon Our mantra for these lost souls. Inspiration sighs For yet another white dwarf star Still we honor their creativity, their work Long after they have gone.