the mind is a thicket,
a dark woods,
tattered by hardened soil,
torn by thorns,
the mind is a midnight street,
wet with oil and litter,
lost drunks,
and mangy dogs,
the mind is starless sky,
stretching a lonely echo,
across a darkened valley,
the mind is an unruly ox,
tamed only by a master of reality,
with a boxer's resolve,
the mind is a house,
full of sounds,
and voices,
the mind is a room,
with cracks in the ceiling,
a window to rainy gloom,
a place to return,
where tangles unfurl,
the mind is a door to the world.
4 comments:
This one busted out of some poetic nebula. Sweet.
You dropped some serious mind science, here. Keep writing with vigor and vicar.
mdog
Great stuff! The mind is the black box, Dox! Recognition is the skeleton key to cognition. Without it, one is locked in a customized hell. With it, you have access to your past, your present and (perhaps) your future.
Potent stuff. Like a mind undone, its got power, an energy of the night.
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