Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poet Free verse

The Mind

The mind is what you make it
The mind is a blank book at the time of birth
We are the authors we write what we will


the mind 
the mind is like clay 
shaped by every 
encounter question 
doubt and desire 

the mind 
the mind
We create the allusion We make
the addiction We spark the nervous break down 
and unnecessarily bite our nails in reaction to events
We the authors of our mind We create the false and 
truth in our mind My truth is not your truth and your
 truth isn't mine

the mind 
the mind
What you may see in a tree I may not 
see our trees endure the seasons differently We see 
the emanations of our mind the image may be ugly or sublime
Time is an allusion make your conclusion From day or night
from naked or dressed we draw conclusions of our own
Most minds over look the simple and accentuate
self made complexities 

Thus the next step is complicated
Your mysteries is not my mysteries we both have different history's
Our minds are projectors it casts images on everything we see 

I see all amalgamated. 

What do you see?

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