Reading my mind

At long last I look upon you.

Pregnant with purpose and gleeming,

beautifully empty.

My dreams and thoughts

dance lazily about.

They are half formed wisps

eager for a birthing.

You are the cradle that will enfold them.

Give structure and form.

Move them from ghost

to corporeal substance.

Within the confines, the scaffold,

of your turgid emptiness

ideas gather and build; grow denser.

Abstract is now concrete.

What Magic is this?

Random chemicals firing

consider their own randomness

and conceive a conciousness.

Nerves fire, more chemistry.

Fingers and hand trace patterns,

ink bleeds onto the unstained page.

Suddenly, the ephemeral essence

of thought

is captured.

Life is born

onto the blank page.

What was once an idea in my head

becomes real.

Now, alive with fire,

I share this magic with you.

My thoughts and dreams

find new growth

abstracted within your mind.

This is mind reading!


More confounding than stars

spinning in the heavens.

Still, it’s also common place,

and, as is often the case,

We mistake the magic,

dreaming of something greater.

Missing the miracle

lying humbly right before us.