Inside my mind,

the thoughts curl up on their cushy teal couch.

They converse and sip their tea.

They listen to Nat King Cole and Vivaldi,

and enjoy their hiding place.

They may say they are waiting,

but that only becuase life

requires

them to leave one day,

not because

they particularly want to.

 

When challenged to the great quest of

social interaction,

the thoughts fall,

shaken mercilessly from their comfort,

and stutter

and flail.

Words fail them and they

retreat

back to warm fire and gentle music,

safe and inside.

 

Then comes the music.

It steals in through warm ups and black notes

dancing across well thumbed pages,

it dances and teases,

and it calls out the little thoughts,

asking their opinions

and holding their hands

as they approach the edge.

 

one

two

three

jump

 

Cascading

       down

             they

                swirl

             and

          twist,

and land

like blotches,

dying the silence,

slowly painting the world inside for the world

outside.

Drop by drop,

thought by thought

 

Tumbling out come the knowledge

of the student,

the critiques

of the musician's ear,

the romanticism

of the writer and bookworm,

and the curiosity

of the nature child

and the therapist.

Drop by drop,

and thought by thought

 

Drop by drop,

they tumble.

Thought by thought.