We think them lazy,
maybe a bit crazy,
but crazy inspires,
makes us embrace desires.

Romantics own our hearts
and poets shed their blood,
what we seek in them
is our own emotional flood.

We quote the mad,
show empathy for the sad,
those we thought lost
unwittingly paid the cost.

The insane still stand alone
in a world where their
necessity is known,
shown, in our reach–ing,
for wisdom and teach–ing.

Aspiration runs from normal,
firmly on the backs
of those who showed their cracks.