Madness,
A tempest born in twilight's breath,
It strikes in silence, cold as death,
At times it blooms from sorrow's depth.

Madness,
A fire that feeds on wounded cries,
It burns yet never fades nor dies,
Leaving vengeance in its ties.

Madness,
It clouds the mind, it blinds the way,
It leads the soul to dark dismay,
And oft takes lives with no delay.

Madness,
A tear that falls yet leaves no trace,
A raging storm in hollow space,
A shadowed scar time can't erase.

Why choose madness, not endure?
Why strike before the truth is sure?
Madness-lightning, fierce and pure,
It scorches hope, yet none secure.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Mayan, in the year 967 AF.