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.
Copyright © Sheila Henry | Year Posted 2021
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