Losing a Mind

I think it’s funny when you think

You’ve finally lost something.

This crude definition of sanity,

And you claim to be insane,

When sanity’s meaning is purely built on vanity.

 

If any of what you think should 

Be believed.

Is it truly the decay of a brain?

Or is your mind ticking faster 

Than the train of thought can muster?

 

Honestly, when you lose your mind

In time, you realize, 

That maybe that’s fine.

Because, in time, you realize

That the best geniuses never really rhyme.

 

They have no reason to their madness,

Typically it’s sadness

That drives the beast out

And no one really knows 

What their so-called genius is about.

 

I think it’s funny when you think

You’ve finally lost something.

Because, people never really see that it’s gone,

And, to them, nothing’s really wrong.

 

Are you insane?

Are you playing games?

If nothing is what  it is, then is everything what it isn’t?

Is there something special about a loss of wits?

Was Poe’s genius his death or his poetry?
Was Einstein’s genius maths or a violent violin’s melody?

 

Is this poem to make sense?

 

To follow a prompt or to be framed by a lens?

 

Losing your wits is not a terrible thing,

It can be an outburst, a panic, a melting of the brain,

But it can be the spark, the beginning of a flame,

And that isn’t really a terrible thing. 

 

Because sanity is a subject, not an object.

 

And one’s madness is another’s genius.

 

The occasional loss of a mind, in time,

Proves to be more sensible than any rhyme.