Mind

My mind feels bewildered. There are countless thoughts and ideas that swoop in one after the other and exit almost as fast. It's like children visiting a fair ground where the stalls haven't been put up yet. I wonder why she won't stop talking. It's easy enough and I want to know if she's ever tried. So I turn towards her but she's blissfully unaware that she's annoying the crap out of me. So I go back to twiddling my pencil and trying to smile while there's a war in my head.

I can feel them being resentful like angry little pixies who have found no place to land.

A poem from Richard Wilbur comes to mind.

Mind

Mind in its purest play is like some bat
That beats about in caverns all alone,
Contriving by a kind of senseless wit
Not to conclude against a wall of stone.

It has no need to falter or explore;
Darkly it knows what obstacles are there,
And so many weave and flitter, dip and soar
In perfect courses through the blackest air.

And has this simile a like perfection?
The mind is like a bat. Precisely. Save
That in the very happiest intellection
A graceful error may corret the cave.

Eclipse

The moon had thought she was dying. For the last hour she had watched petrified as the Earth sidled up and discreetly took her place between the Sun and herself. When it was over and she was visible again she realized that the disappearing had taken a lot from her. She had finally come to know that the abundant beauty she shared with everyone was the result of light reflected from a mere star, the sun. She was furious the next day and bounced angrily off all surfaces she could see.

He assumed that they were words she remembered from a different life time. Or perhaps she had found them in the various rooms of her head. It was always going to be difficult. To love her. He had decided to try anyway.