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LABYRINTHIAN THOUGHTS
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Out it spills from labyrinths of times consumed thought,
from every facet of our lives,
every simple word is stored and sorted,
after a fashion, how so?
Do we not know?
And when we need these thoughts again
to illustrate another, or just to sense a time now past
we find the right one just on queue,
at other times we don't,
oh bother,
it was just so fitting for this moment, now,
but how do we look,
as we dash through those corridors of stored visions,
find the right door,
the right enlightenment,
we don't,
we do sometimes by chance,
and when we are alert to poetry
its fickle ways of weaving synapses together
we see into wells of dreams and memories
as if into a great hall of wonders,
beyond all heaven's, hells,
there waiting to be chosen
eager bright,
or deep and dark,
shaded from the light.
Oh labyrinth, you brain of many parts
what is it makes you so conceal your arts?