Our Earliest Memories Are Formed In The Hypothalamus Gland
I still remember events when I was two,
The scent of milk, the color blue—
A pulse beneath my skull that never dies,
Whispers from the Gland of what is true.
Tiny furnace in the darkened brain,
You balance hunger, thirst, and ache,
You dream while wide awake,
You script the joy and orchestrate my pain.
Sunlight touches neural seas,
Old sparks ignite along their veins,
Each synapse hums with coded lines,
Translating warmth to memories quiet.
You are the clock, the flame, the heart—
Where time begins, yet never parts,
This gland that lets the soul recall—
How even at two, I remembered it all.
And the 0.07 volts that runs our brain.
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