The Mind is Not Just Watercolors Washed by Misty Breezes in an Oriental Picture Frame
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Our consciousness, that thing we call our mind
When it walking wide-eyed in the world
(And even so while sleeping) has been signed
By some intelligent designer furled
Around inside the hardened jelly gray
Of brain cells. Even with this entity
Enfolded (much to scientists’ dismay)
In skulls, the name of the identity
Of this Creator calls out for his code
To be deciphered so that all can read
The truth of him in scientific mode.
We want to learn from him his secret creed.
The mind so far can help us learn to think
As more than strokes of art in Indian ink.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Sep 18, 2024 | Uncategorized |