The mad man that we all knew,
Was lost in his own mind,
A tortured soul, misunderstood,
His thoughts, too intricate to find.

But in his madness, he found joy,
A comfort in his pain,
The world outside seemed a blur,
But inside, he was sane.

In his mind, he saw magic,
And colours so alive,
A world that no one else could see,
A place where he could thrive.

He found solace in his delusions,
And strength in his darkest days,
His madness brought him clarity,
In a world of chaotic ways.

Through his madness, he found art,
And wrote his own symphony,
A beautiful piece of music,
That only he could see.

Though we called him a mad man,
He was truly just unique,
A soul that danced to his own beat,
And found joy in his mystique.

So let us not judge the mad man,
For he found his joy in insanity,
And though his mind was perceived as broken,
He truly lived his own reality.