Best Mindscape Poems
I walk through forests of golden snow, as the sun beams down on my face
I feel the sweet breeze of the cold air. I stand before the castle gate and stare
At the war-torn solders draped from head-to-tow in armour made from bones
Of the mighty giants themselves.
The corridors are damp with moss grown walls and the sound of crunching
Beneath my feet, I am not here to view the dead but to find what they left behind.
Dark fairies sit upon my shoulder, a symbol of evil but of luck to me as they light
My way through the dreary dungeons of my mind.
I hear a noise from behind and before I blink I’ve swung around, my blade
Outstretched and the ice from my heart starts to form around my hand and
Travels up my arm, in a burst of rage I let lose as the ice now fly’s towards my prey.
All movement stops as the wall’s glisten as a now prison of pure cold comforting ice.
I break into a sprint as I head towards my target, one slash and it’s no more than a
Shattered wreck on a icy glaze, I see it now but not very clear, I brake my sprint and
Jump into a flip, grasp my blade with both hands and with all my strength… I strike…
And miss, I hit the floor beside my target, why is it here? How did it get here? Who is this
boy?
His pure black eyes stare into my soul as if trying to claim it as his own but his smile
Betrays his eyes and I feel a sense of disturbed peace, he melted the ice around him with
No more than a thought, then he spoke, “ ’Bout time you got ’ere, you wan’a get goin’ or
what?”
I walk faster towards the object of my desire, if only I knew what it looked like, hmm might
help.
As I’m lost in thought I feel a sudden pain in my chest, I look forwards in disbelief “Oh $H*T”,
There is no dragon guarding this treasure, only myself, an impossible battle but not one I
have
To win, just occupy, the boy runs.. Fast, I watch him zigzag between me and myself like a
thief
At the peek of his work, I gaze in amazement as he grabs my prize, he throws, I jump,
myself
Catches it.
My shadow opens the book and light comes poring out, as it floats there in the still air,
I look for the boy, he’s back where he belongs, my shadow fades away and my conscience
Is complete, the battle is won and for the first time in a long time…
I smile.
So gentle do thoughts fall on waiting pages,
those muses often long lost by poets in time.
Rich words that roll along past ancient sages -
making vivid, soulful meter in rhyme.
Sharing expansive and open, lush vistas;
always imagined by our inner eye.
Searching inward that will inspire wishes -
seeking images that logic will defy.
Panoramas sewn in the hearts of us,
deep in a person's primal, earthly mind.
Driven to go to dreamy settings thus -
exploring skyward for a gem to find.
Creative spell under your vision's deep gaze,
truly nature's wonders continue to amaze.
He knows these roads,
has no need to find one way or another.
He drives without thought
hands and eyes free
there will be no unexpected turns.
This is a world without
traffic or people to move it along.
The grazing cows and horses
may be at the far end of their fields
or by the road fence,
the mind accommodates
for these moving chess pieces.
Is Ohio real after all
or did his mind name a mythical place
once seen in a storybook?
In any event,
he has a home and a name here,
it is almost a life.
The season has changed
Leaves all fall to die
Mindscape rearranged
Learning how to fly
Follow the goose down
Driving through the sky
With spirits around
The mushroom on high
Journey's holy ground
To seek peace and grace
A time to be found
A feeling of place
Been so long estranged
Coming home to face
Myself underanged
To dance, to embrace
The fact is - two lengths of any sort -
Travel by foot to the north
And buried there you'll find it still
The answer buried just for you
The sinking sun will solace you
As clouds come down to batter you
The earth it slinks, withheld, unsure
And sandy beaches windy winds
Do not move but do not amend
Buried there beneath fists of flesh
Forgotten till it became fresh
Hosting shuffling waiting for you
Is a breath of a message, written by you
The message crumpled iron sore
The earth had held within its core
Carries message not untrue
But oh so lost it doesn’t heal
The message clinks and chimes its truth
Its clockwork heart was made by you
But no time moves only stills
The edges burn but rust with truth
Angry eyes look at you own
You do not know where they belong
It’s wick hard shine
Reflect those eyes
They brood, regret and forget themselves
But still, they stand at the edge of truth
Your ears which held blood and earth,
Listened to what you research
But this time though they listen close
They listen hard with flesh and blood
The wind it’s screams start to shift
The earth and light it does so with
They still and hold their very core
Your hair, you breath, your heart your soul
You lips entwine with endless breath
And mutter words you lived to forget
Words you carried hard and sure
A thank you to your very soul.
The business of the modern age is quiet, clean, and bright,
With row on row of identical desks beneath a sterile light.
They sought to build a template for the modern working mind,
A standard cog, a uniform, predictable design.
They measured wealth by metrics of a singular, flat mold,
And told the strange and wandering thoughts to do as they were told.
But in this gray monoculture, a quiet sickness grows,
A blindness to the sudden risks, a numbness to the blows.
When every brain is tuned to match the same harmonic chord,
The blind spots grow as vast as seas, the daring ideas bored.
The innovative spark expires, the bright minds burn away,
Exhausted by the heavy cost of masking through the day.
For thoughts that move in loops and leaps, or speak in shapes and signs,
Will wither when you force them down into linear lines.
Yet look across the shifting field where new empires arise,
Where enterprises look at thought with uncorrupted eyes.
They do not seek a polished clone to fit a rigid space;
They build a living ecosystem inside the marketplace.
They know the mind’s diversity is nature’s own design,
An evolutionary shield against the slow decline.
For when the world is dominated by the algorithms’ art,
The varied human consciousness becomes the priceless part.
Here sits the quiet systemizer, tracing hidden trends,
While next to them the dreamer leaps where logic sharply ends.
The verbal thinker states the case in clear, narrative prose,
Beside the mind where silent, abstract architecture grows.
One cannot see a mental image, working pure in fact,
Another views a vivid world, pristine and exact.
The hyper-focused, the divergent, the holistic and the deep,
Awaken from the corporate sleep to take a collective leap.
They change the room, they shift the time, they let the silence fall,
They trade the loud, continuous meeting for the written wall.
They welcome healthy friction when the different lenses clash,
Transforming systemic variance to creative, sudden flash.
For resilience is not discovered in the chorus of the same,
But in the wild, discordant notes that give the future name.
This is the strategic blueprint, the framework of the bold:
To untether the human landscape from the architectures of old,
To cultivate the cognitive field where every style may bloom,
And find the engine of tomorrow inside a different room.