Thoughts That Matter Grow
Somewhere between the molecules
and neurons in my brain,
lies latent creativity,
between miracles and mundane.
Although of late, still sleeping,
wandering, adrift,
as if in need like watering seeds
to bloom its innate gift.
Itself to heights out of the night
and into light again,
somewhere behind the prefrontal lobe
a thought begins to spin.
Like a waterspout, a funnel cloud,
or a black hole in deep space,
yet smaller than a pinhead
with angels dancing on its face.
While it craves to know its master
and begs to be reborn,
as if it knows it's time and place,
and laughs with mirth and scorn.
Much like a clown, a trickster now,
hiding in the weeds, lying,
between my amygdala and medulla,
creativity teases me.
I know not where it's leading,
if any place at all,
but only know to listen,
to its faint, quiescent call.
That may lead to greener pastures
where wisdom's waiting there,
some little treasures I've been after
or perhaps, disaster and despair.
The only way of knowing
is to take the winding road,
inside my mind where love is kind
and thoughts that matter grow.
While listening to the wind and rain
or gazing on the Milky Way,
creativity unfolds like silver and gold,
and children lost in play.
As it rises, falls, expands, and stalls,
leaving all perplexed,
waiting for the moment when
another young bird leaves its nest.
And spreads its wings and learns to fly
and let itself be known,
to feathery flocks, sea, sky, and rocks
and wherever it may roam.
In this never-ending, mind-bending journey
of mountain peaks to climb,
for the creative urge to feel the surge
of Creativity in our minds.
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