Tragically insane, is the frost upon my brain
Silence beats within me
The roaring and vapid pain
If only for a moment
Could green pastures be my home?
Then silence in every moment
Brandishes me never alone
Tragically insane, is the dew upon my brain
Clutter lingers within me
The futile and vanishing strain
If only for a while
Could green pastures call me home?
Then agony in any moment
Renders me never alone
For in and out of my own brain
Is the beauty rarely the same?
To the tragically poetic insane