Art of the insane

He picks up his pen,
And scraps it across the paper.
He draws shapes and figures,
That only make sense in his mind.

His pen sweeps across the page,
But still maintains its grace.
He makes buildings and children,
Who play on the streets of his masterpiece.

He constructs the walls and faces,
every movements persist.
He's done this before,
And yet he never tires.

He sweeps the pen across the sky,
making a leaf that covers the city.
He finally puts down his pen,
And examines his work.

He glides his hand slowly across the paper,
takes a deep breath,
Throws it away,
Then starts again.