Madness to the Method

In chaos spun, a hidden pattern lies, A dizzying dance where reason seems to flee, The artist's hand, where wild invention flies, Finds form in depths the sane refuse to see. A fractured mirror, showing truth askew, Reflects a world both vibrant and forlorn, Each brushstroke born of visions fresh and new, Though whispered sanity might seem outworn. The actor's trance, a soul possessed by role, Walks tightrope thin 'tween self and what he feigns, A calculated loss of all control, To plumb the human heart's ecstatic pains. So from the storm, a masterpiece takes hold, A method born of stories to be told.