To see, to hear, to think these thoughts
Within my mind is a conundrum.
How can you be so small, yet
Have no limits?
As my neurons fire, recharge,
Flicker, and spark again,
I sit back and feel the
Life that they perpetuate.
This mind of mine is me;
My souls of yesterday, today, and
Tomorrow are packed safely away.
Maybe someday I will be a
Neuroscientist. I will pick apart
The tender tendrils of a
Gray mind. And inside the
Boney bastion, my own tendrils
Will curl with joy as a new riddle
Is proposed to them. Perhaps, then, I
Should be proud not of myself, but
Of the voracious brain that
Makes me myself.