In Sanity Is Love

We, the conscious, only ask

What is insanity?

That which is not sane, they say.
           And who might the judges be... the "theys" of the world?

           Might they be the ones who slept on cots,
          or the ones who watched from other chambers?

What price must be paid by self-proclaimed standard bearers,
          whose contempt is only made darker
          by their refusal to be part of a conscience that is willing to:

Touch

fear as viscous mutations parading life's "what ifs.”

Smell
the acrid stench of ignorance masquerading as humility.

See
arrogance as fear's ready defense against curiosity.

Hear
complacency is an anthem to exhaustion,

the victory of considering madness as eloquence.

Such is the price our judges pay as we continue to drink of passions
         beyond the shadows and beneath the soil that feeds all
         who retreat under the bedrock of captivity.

Deeper we travel,

where all is nothing and nothing is all,
         the innocent state of mind some might label as...

in sanity is love.