The Genius of Insanity

They stared at me, an outsider.
I was there to ruin
Their fun.

The insane weren't
Human.
They have no rights.

They don't protest
The cruelty,
The mocking.

I made my way up the
Winding path
To the Asylum.

The front door was open
Letting in the cold
And the Autumn snow.

It formed little
Drifts, in the corners
That would last 'til Spring.

I came looking for
The Sadness, the Misery
That I was told.

I looked in a room.
A man rocking
Back and forth,

Yet another
Was talking
To himself.

I saw no misery,
No sadness
In the cold.

A door stood
Open down the hall,
The room unoccupied.

Stepping inside,
The door clicked
Closed.


No regrets,
I felt at home.
A sign of insanity?

Would
A sane man
Do this?

They would have a
New thing
To mock in the morning.


I wrote this a few years ago. I just stumbled upon it while looking for an old notebook. Thought I'd share.