All of the shining mad ones
With their heresies of reality
And other visions and other voices
Are not diminished
By the multitude of choices
That is their truth
Upon each waking day
They are woken by the howl
From beyond the first ear
And into the deeper mind
Where there is other language
And blinding colours of emotion
For madness has the purity of pain
That martyrs can only long for
By Phil Roberts
I know this is a "difficult" poem but, it's a difficult concept. I felt that I had to try it in the interest of empathy.