Oh, the craze, they say.
Oh, the craze, they shout.
Oh, the craze, they crumble.
What is life in a world that spins?
Can we stop to breathe when we simply keep turning?
Sometimes faster, sometimes slower, like a ballerina
drilling a hole into the stage,
we do pirouette after pirouette
without true end.
The spotlight is a blinding eye,
pinning us to a floor that is no longer there.
We are balancing on the edge of a scream,
the sharp silence echoing
in our poor, helpless minds.
Oh, the craze, they fear.
Oh, the craze, they praise.
Oh, the craze, they become.
Faces blur when the world turns too fast.
The faster the orbit, the thinner the skin.
We become outlines of ourselves,
sketched in frantic motion by a shaking hand,
unfinished.
In a world where even photographs lie,
ghosts posing in the skin of the living,
freezing a breath never actually drawn,
perhaps the dizziness is the only anchor we have.
Perhaps spinning is the only honest thing left.
Oh, the craze, they claim.
Oh, the craze, they follow.
Oh, the craze, I am.
Authors Note:
“Craze” is a poetic reflection on the struggle to maintain a sense of self in a world that has replaced stable truth with relentless, absurd motion. The poem uses the metaphor of an endless pirouette to explore the tension between the desire for stillness and the necessity of the spin. The rhythmic, three-line refrains act as a ritualistic descent from observing a chaotic world to eventually becoming a part of it. I hope readers feel the transition from the fear of instability to the strange freedom found in letting go of traditional logic. The final shift to “I am” is meant to suggest that in an upside-down world, the only way to exist is to embrace the craze entirely. It suggests that if the world is a craze, then to exist is to be the craze.
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