Madness
Oh, Vincent,
if you could only know
the starry, starry nights
you would inspire.
You died at your own hand,
a failure in your mind,
never knowing your name
would become a household word.
The swirls and colors
you imagined
and put on canvas behind asylum bars
have inspired countless imitations,
Many of them striking
in their own right,
but only a reflection
of your original genius.
It is ironic that the artistic ravings
of a madman forged a new
artistic path for humankind.
Is madness a prerequisite
for creating something
completely, positively
arrestingly new?
Or are all innovators
called mad
until time passes
and we finally realize
they were visionaries?