Scribbles and Electrical Impulses
When the mind strikes, you're unprepared.
A single stimulus triggered,
Emerges a different person,
Out of the fog of your own conscience
And a bird flies, thought the clear skies above,
Into another realm.
A beautiful fruit,
Does not pay for the consequences of existance.
No recongnition
Of the products and creativity,
For whatever it's worth,
It's worth the worst of you.
Try to weave in some meaning,
But its slippery,
And escapes out of your grasp,
Beyond your reach or senses.
The words lack a purpose,
Reflecting the irragular texture of your thoughts.
Scribbles and electrical impulses.
That is, what it is.
A.
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