Madness is a word we have left from the vernacular

and it is, without hyperbole, a descriptor,without equal

Just today the loneliest are left to insufferable fates

when it is true they are indeed mad

Not in anger were shots fired

nor in the corners where ragged dogs

vie for the attention of the weakest of men

It is in the common hours that madness claims

victims to ambition and those that advance

in the confident march

Madness can just as well be considered the other

whilst the madman would suggest the opposite

In this charming hour I cannot make out the letters

nor the wrinkles, and not even the tone

So it shall be madness one more day

and that is how we prefer it