The Mind Of A Poet

Where Poetry Is Born

The mind…The brain…
No more than pale grey paste
Enclosed within, snug contained
In thin calcium case

Afloat…Adrift
In cerebral sea
Sentient jelly essence
Of both you and me


Able to inform us
Yet n’er given to see scintilla of light
Of brilliance... of Sunshine
And deep, darkness of night

Tis the architect of our reality
Gives shape and substance to our world
Emotions…Dreams…
All things it seems

…while lying quiescently curled…

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes, the brain, like a sea of thought, there is where poetry comes...on those waves, floating to us, through us and then from us.

[Marie]

True. The brain must rely on the senses, because it can't experience touch, sight, smell, etc. Yet without the brain nothing could function.