In strokes of night, where stars ignite the sky,
Gerard Wilson sits, with a wild, knowing eye.
His hair, a tempest, mirroring the scene,
A mind ablaze, where madness has been.
A quill in hand, his parchment alight,
With tales of shadows and creatures of night.
From raven’s perch to dragon’s dark form,
His thoughts take flight, weathering life’s storm.
Books stacked high, a fortress of lore,
Whispers of worlds, forevermore.
In Van Gogh’s embrace, a soul laid bare,
The crazy-mad writer, beyond all compare.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 