How do we say, oh crazy ones,
That the world is not ready?
Your time has either passed,
Or has yet to come.
You burn with unquenchable fire,
A flame none of us can comprehend.
Then we witness your struggle
To control your madness, your blaze.
The dying embers leave us empty,
An unsettling quiet in the pit of our soul.
You brought brilliance with you,
Gave us light from your very core.
I watched them die down,
Oh crazy ones. You fire starters.
Each great and mad all at once.
Better than most, yet misunderstood.
For how could we understand you,
We without the fire of madness?
A silent hearth, unsure of itself,
Whimpering in our complacency, waiting.
In some simple presence
Was enough to ignite passion,
Buried deep, long held silent
And at bay. The rules
No longer applied, for you,
The crazy ones, We who,
Like you and so many others
Before, after, and all time
In between: You called out to us;
Not knowing you were doing it,
Giving us the strength of your fire,
A spark that by itself could
Ignite the world.
Mere contagion will have to suffice,
As I and those like me bare the truth –
Since you are gone, Oh you,
Who were one of the crazy ones.
You have given us laughter, fear,
Compassion, understanding, fire… Hope.
We hope that we brandish your fire well.
Without fear, or hesitation. The way you did.
Michael's Musings 