This Is A Poem Without Rhyme

In an age of unknown intelligent superiority
Where the brain waves function in vast neural networks
Which fire repeatedly in unknown rhythms to perform simple tasks
A dark and mysterious thought crosses now and again without
Much regard for the mind into which it has invaded.
It could be any man, woman, child, pet
And yet with much scientific knowledge on psychological ailments
It has not become without its wane for a bleak future for which
There is no cure for anything we have ultimately labeled as a disorder.
Evil thoughts arise from the bowels of the human psyche
But under which circumstances and upon which grounds
We can not know; it is not to be known until a correct time
As we are heading into a digital age which is advancing faster
Than even our distant ancestors knew not the velocity in the
Times they had lived.
Thousands of years sparks zero time lapse, but a minute sparks eternity
When our modern-day teenager believes she or he is the very source
Of all of the knowledge they will ever know. A book smart woman and
Moronic man marry, children born into a new, almost evil time, and yet
All the while, with even all of this occurring on a basis as we know
Only as present-day minutes and hours, the mind of a mentally unstable
Person is seeking something we know not. He or she knows what we do not
For though we know much about the reality of destruction of lives from bullies
And broken homes, alcoholic parents and methamphetamine siblings, and
The news spreading ever-more mind-numbing terminology of persons distant,
The psychologically criminal mind is within grasp of yet another havoc
That he shall wreak upon his immediate surroundings, angry at his inability
To remain coherent to those who watch over his every physical move
And spoken word of the tongue.
In an age of unknown intelligent superiority, we believe ourselves to be at the top
But we know not what lay embedded in the mind of the ones we cannot
Communicate with, for it is they upon whom we label problems.
What about the rest of us? Are we empty shells as well, staring every-engrossedly
At the sky, knowing our beginnings and potential end?
No. Each of us remains as sane as possible in a world where turmoil has
Reversed many lives with the simple flick of a trigger, the pop of a bomb.
The Savage Ones are not these who are mentally unstable — it is now the role
We know as the Ones We Elect as our Leaders, with whom we cannot communicate
For it is they who upon we shall label our problems.
And now I ask: Who is insane now?