Directional

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.