The scandalous nature of language,

Words can never hurt,

Until they are used to damage,

Used as a tool to weaponize,

Infect thoughts and venomize.

Poetry – the virgin maiden, I need not laden,

Her with slander,

We’re looking at something grander,

We’re trying to focus on the invisible,

Metaphorical metaphysical is pivotal.

My thoughts become her home and address.

(Thorne, what do you think about that?)

And my feelings become her pillow and mattress.

(Thorne, how do you feel about that?)

I think therefore I am what I feel I can.

In time, the passion will fall behind,

When the mill will grind up,

Its last grain,

That’s when poetry will wind up,

An afterthought, on the afterburner,

When other options are lined up,

Then I’ll be writing for dimes,

Until the well runs dry and is left with grime,

This is not why I chose to rhyme,

Maybe it’s my caring love or excessive pride,

But I won’t let the virgin daughter turn expensive bride,

I’ll fight and fight until I reverse the tide,

But my feelings are numb from all the tears I cried,

And my head hurts because my thoughts are fried,

So I’ll leave the door open to my cryptic mind,

Please enjoy the ride:

You are about to journey through many dimensions of light and darkness –Through uncharted regions where even your moral compass cannot reliably guide you. You are welcome to explore areas of interest, but, mind you, do not stray too far. We welcome you to this egregious escape from earthly embellishments to the elusive eclectic echelons of existential enlightenment.

Enjoy your tour through the Cryptic Mind.