To My Friend The Artist Poem by Tolu Akinwole

Madness -
How you hate that word!

But are we not mad -
Mad like the he-goat
That slept with his mother?

You are mad,
I am mad,
We are all mad -
Mad like that farmer
That stole another's sweat.

But we needn't deny it,
God knows we are mad
Both of us, yes, we are;
Our instruments make us so.
And don't we build worlds with them?

Mad we are and let's be mad;
It's excellent just to be mad -
Not like the farmer, nor like the he-goat,
But like the sharp teeth that bites the tongue.