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?