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by WaylandCybersmith

You think of your mind as a private room
Somewhere to go to be alone
But the doors of your mind are open wide
And the uninvited just wander in.
Fleeting Impulses,
Faster than thought.
Shoot out your hand to strike or grab.
Use your voice to shout strange words.
Or turn your gaze to something lost
Or a treasure to be found.
Urges, nagging you to cut, smoke, inject or drink
To steal, and fight, and wreck, and burn.
Or maybe to call a wandered friend
Or repair a broken family bond.
Whisperers reveal hidden things
Words of knowledge, wisdom and truth
Or lies, doubts, self-loathing and fears
Encouraging words, flattering words
Words of hatred and revenge.
Inspirations: Born fully-formed.
Whole novels, grand paintings, and sculpture
Instruments of pain and torture
Science, maths and medicine
Crime and warfare and terror.
Fantasies: intoxicating dramas in your mind
Old conflicts endlessly replayed
And new ones forever rehearsed
Dreams of money, fame, sex, and power
With emotions as real as life,
But as substantial as cotton candy.
Passions: Strong emotion without cause
Lust and anger, jealousy and resentment
Thoughts clouded by smoke from blazing blood.
They come and they stay,
And we think they are us
We are their victims, their puppets
But, we have a choice.
The master became victim
So victim could be master
And our room can be cleared
And the door can be guarded
Then we decide who shares our mind.
Who guides our hand
And speaks with our voice.
And freedom and peace are ours.

© Colin Nelson www.waycyber.com


© WaylandCybersmith 2011


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