Rescued from the prison of mental freedom.
Robbed of their embryonic innocence
By the urgent summons of mental itches;
Pearls of cobbled thoughts,
Encased in myelin gossamers,
An annoying entangled mélange.
Faced with a blank white sheet,
Dervish half-formed ideas all crowd forward
Creating a traffic gridlock
Along the labyrinthine byways
Of my cavernous mind;
Foaming a quivering agitated mass of muck.
Pensively they queue on the forehead’s furrow
Jostling for the first to roll
Down the playground slide
Onto the white, virgin canvas.
Pandemonium and chaos clogs
The cerebral highways and byways
Causing considerable time to elapse
Before my brain’s blood is bled
On the white bed
Via the erect artery of my pen.
The inscrutable workings of my labyrinthine mind
Makes me catch the saplings of different shades, lengths and shapes,
A rich tapestry for to weave and create.
Though I got a placid lake for a face,
My head is a busy thoroughfare.
Behind its calm surface
Is a happily tumultuous ecosystem of denizens;
Concepts scrambling for relevance.
I view the world through slits and apertures
Trying to make sense
Of the thoughts that are condensed
And stuck at improbable nodes.
The lode-stone is halved in two;
I bear the load,
(Do I mean the lode?)
Of searching for the stone, my stone,
My rock, the personal mountain I’m born to climb.
To you it seems like wanderlust
I might walk meandering miles,
My feet caked in dust.
But it doesn’t mean I’m lost.