The Thinker


Along with the Thespians and the Thieving

Traveled the Thinker, boisterously singing

Songs with the lot of them, stopping only

To laugh at herself and at their lonely,

Crooked, drunken notes. She put on great

Shows for those she knew would stand like bait

In an open sea, waiting for something

To snatch them up all at once and bring

Them a glimpse of happiness. This they needed,

And this she, with joy in her heart, completed.

But on days when there was no social fortitude,

She lived deeply for silence and solitude,

For contemplation and understanding

Of things she might have been reprimanding

The day before, playing devil’s advocate

Against herself. In every predicament,

She would change her mind and back again,

Filling her head with noise, just as her friends

Had filled the silence outside her mind

With songs of love, of suffering, of delight,

Only moments before. If her thoughts bore

In her a peaceful conclusion, her door

Would burst in the morning and flash

Her shining, large smile as she dashed

From place to place, preparing for the day.

But, if her thoughts had lingered and frayed

Without sufficient settlement, as they

Often did, she’d have naught to do but pray

For the dark of night to seep in through

The blinds that slipped down over her moon-

Round, red-tinted brown eyes and hope for

Only simple situations to be in store

For the day that always undoubtedly came.

It was in these nights she doused her flame

By crossing her long, dance-worn legs

Over her bedroom floor, adjusting the pegs

Of her mountain dulcimer to tune the strums

She could not fully hear, for the drums

Of her ears were numbed with loss at birth,

A loss that took no toll on the worth

Of the sounds and words that slid past her thick lips

And sent a gentle rock into her hips.

As she sang, the noises that polluted

Her brain, dripped out, convoluted,

From a well that held her mother’s voice

And made her sane as all versions of choice

Melted into the hums and words of songs she sang

As the journeyers traveled along the way.

Guide that inspired this poem: 



Song is the expression of creative thought through the most beautiful of medium. The echo of one soul voice in the room of the mind can be enough to fill a room. Thinking is the mind's form of song.

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