I.

Thoughts.
Swimming around
in my head;
leaping, splashing,
in this fish bowl
called my brain.
Small silver minnows
of fragmented images
darting in and out
amongst grand ponderings
of mammoth proportion.
Like an eel, envy slithers
through the sediment of
media implanted desires
for the unnecessary essentials
of modern day living.
Memories of former beauty
float and bob about the surface,
untouched by the turmoil below.
Forgotten dreams are found tangled
in the seaweed of mundane to do lists
and immense catalogues
of trivial information.
Thoughts!

II.

How will I contain
These thoughts that remain,
Concealed, within my own heart?

They push and they pull
With desire, I’m full;
I fear they’ll rip me apart.

My hopes won’t refrain,
They voice their disdain;
Their cry incessantly streams.

An impassive voice,
Demanding a choice,
Seeks freedom for long held dreams.

III.

Quiet. The stillness of a storm’s aftermath fills the room. The anguish of my tortured soul has broken through fragile walls and poured down the banks eroding the calm facade. Fissures mar the well-manicured surface showing gaping wounds of desire, while longing oozes from the wells that had been sealed with stones of strong determination. The dam which had controlled the flow has burst wide open; the entire dry valley of monotony has been flooded with a mass of pent-up hopes, dreams, fears, and imaginations; now flopping about in the shallows, searching for a stream to carry them to the sea; they lay exposed before me, these hopeful thoughts of a life fulfilled. Will I leave them untouched and allow them to die for lack of nurture, or will I set them to swimming in a fresh flow of joyful anticipation? Thoughts, the spawning bed where dreams are born… and sometimes die.