A Question of Beauty

Mystical madness, seen hovering over the sun,
An influx of its progeny,
Doth fall upon the ripples, such
Consequential of a stone thrown directionlessly,
With precise carelessness, into the vast ocean;
Accepted much as an element of poison,
In a peaceful society;
It sets ablaze, consecutive waves, and
The fluttering darts of light,
Stream into our minds, arising
Thoughtful arguments over whether,
The work of beauty, or
The vacuum of our emotions.