All philosophers true to the study will go mad some day.
But then again, it is Normal that defines Mad.

The crescent

Early morning, I come out
From in between the sheets
And walk to the glass so stout
And look

I see what I see
A golden crescent against the pale
A thin curve standing out
And wisps of black brought by the gale

A smile creeps, my mind does sing
“Oh, I love my new nose ring” 

:p Thought I'd just do a nonsense poem. Cheers ;)

Of the black headed visitor

He came to me, with his wiry moustache
Coming closer, inevitable was the clash
Gullible fellow, he was my second of the day
Closer, when he was at the end of his way
“ZZZZTTT”, score for the Pest o Flash.