The Oddest Whims of the Mind

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The Oddest Whims of the Mind


The blank page is vast

and ruinous

to the mind. Let me

fill it with thin, black letters.

Let me assemble them into words.

Let the words fall over

themselves to become



There's a lark

in the tree

outside, waltzing

with the bees,

fluttering, flashing,


through the sky,

alive and living.


The stars

are bright, though

I cannot see them

for the sun

is brighter. Perhaps

not brighter, per se,

but closer. Is everything close

so luminous? Or not close,

rather, but distant

and yet so giant

as to seem close

from this small

perspective. Perhaps

not perspective,

so to speak, but insanity

brought on

by the sight of wide blue

sky in which

no stars

can be seen.


Your eyes

are moving, following

the waterfall

of words

down the page, scanning

left to right, reading

is creating,

is living,

is time traveling


the future.

O! No!

I confess

I have come

from my mother's womb

and try not think about it, except

in the context

of poetry, where

such strange tidings

may be contemplated

at one's leisure. 


This life is too long!

This life is too short!

This life is too!

This life!



This wind is windy

and my hair dances the way

hair always dances

when flirting with the wind, and

for a moment, I feel

light and lifted

by air, as my hair

whips in a tornado

of chaos. 


I inhale and exhale,

as you do,

and as you breathe,

I breathe.

Isn't it beautiful?

Isn't is a wonder?

This moment, here, now,

we, you, I


What a marvel!

What joy!

But soft!


must end,

conclusions hover

in the peripheral

of every

existence, and

here is

another one.


Note: This poem was inspired by_WhimsicalCat:, who offered the prompt: "The oddest whims of the mind at the oddest of times?" .

(Unfortunately _WhimsicalCat no longer seems to have an account. T_T )

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