Madness Poem by Kevin Maroney

Is it true, what they say?
Does a madman have to sound like some uncouth lout
chattering and chittering at unheard voices? NAY
He can be intelligent, an intellectual even.

Thought has pulled him into a whirlpool of never-ending contradiction
Going against himself even as he agrees,
Is this black bog truly a heavenly gift in disguise? ,
Like the greek goddess of love,
Who, in a twist of humor,
Played a cynical joke on an unsuspecting man,
Hiding her beauty in the guise of an old crone?

Or is it truly just an azure mist, ever enticing those unwary, yet great
minds down into a false oblivion?
Or is it that truly terrifying madness which drives men insane in the way of the
Rabid Dog, a great red spider web, cutting and slicing sanity until
But a few sickly streamers remain?

So now, for the long pondering thinker, I plea,
What is madness, and is it in me?