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