Monday, March 25, 2013


In the corner of a white, cluttered room,
In the darkest sector of brain
Sits a boy,
The mind of man
His present play toy—
Dunce cap his crown to wear
The man walks cautiously,
As if in the dark,
Feeling for an end to this wall or that,
In search of another corner he might turn—
In spite of laughter heard
He continues,
Turns inward
At the end of each wall
His fingers graze along that
Eventually ends.
A starved rodent of the road,
Amazed at the nothingness amassed,
Round and round
His circular logic,
Food for thought
In this four-sided space—
A bulb goes off,
A door opens—
A bridge is burned,
A youth left behind.

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