By Jordan Bates
When will I find the words that seem to be so lost,
Drifting aimlessly amidst the others
In the well of my consciousness,
A well that runs deep, beyond the point
To where I am capable of withdrawing them.
These thoughts drift farther down the well,
Difficult for me to see or understand.
Memories, contemplations, inquiries, and the like
Just wandering, waiting for someone to seize them.
But they will never be seized,
For they have long since wafted too far down the abyss,
To the point where they are out of my reach.
Perhaps some of my most prized
Memories or most creative propositions,
Vanishing all the time.
The mind is not a filing cabinet.
No, it cannot hold those thoughts that bubble
Over like a boiling stew in an old metal pot.
Our easily-accessed thoughts represent only
A minuscule portion of all that we have thought and experienced.
Sadly, our personal wisdom is hindered by this phenomenon.