what litters my Mind,

is the Mind itself.

how self-absorbed and arrogant of


to concern itself,

with only itself


of the normal queries and conundrums of modern man.

but the Mind is a marvel, it.

sculpting and molding the shape of a grown man's fate.

sketching the boundary lines,

of who and what he may think about

and where he chooses to wander in life.

coloring his desires and fantasies, unique to him

and him only.

erasing memories not so fond, and framing ones

worth being framed.

The artwork of the Great Mind

is evident, through large cities and grape vines.

ever resonant, through rocky mountains and gold mines.

benevolent, and so fine.

A mindless human is a powerless old vessel

drifting away meaninglessly

in the depths of an ocean. 

Oh unsung architect

of creation and corruption,

of development and destruction,

of Love and of hate

of things grim and great.

I ode the,

for you are what I dwell upon

the most.


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