My Head Can Be A Weird Place To Be

To describe my mind,

and I will be kind,

is a vast potpourri,

oft times most amazing to me.

Like a food pantry fully stocked,

items aligned to the nth degree,

things will be used, mentally abused,

to write words meant to be free.

There will be spaces between the lines,

where words cannot fill a story, I opine;

but given thought, endless hours to imagine,

the mind will generate like a locomotive engine.

A word, suggestion, idea, whatever it may be,

triggers a synapse inside me creating a life.

I cannot explain it any better than this;

my mind without words leaves me blind you see.

So what is my mind but a microcosm of thought,

transplanted vestiages to entertain the minds of others,

fot is that not what thoughts, pen to paper are?

A way to brighten, enlighten, along each life’s own way?

When next a thought entertains a page,

be it sadness, humor, love or rage;

know I do this not for myself,

but the self of those, who chose to read along the way.