The BrainPoetry flows in,
And blooms to create seeds.
Implanted in the place
Where it shall grow,
Developing into trees.
The branches reach out, stretching towards life.
Yet all is stuck in
The basis of the world
Is up there.
Contained in what could be a fragile bowl.
Yet bowls are empty,
Round and waiting to be filled.
Brains are compressed with
Is caught up there,
Enclosed in the brain.
It is the center of action,
Of ideas, of thought.
What is formulated inside
Is a ghost to the outside world,
Invisible and long gone.
Thoughts never seem to escape
Out into the open.
Outrageous ideas can be established.
I can cure the wealth of disease.
I have already diminished world hunger.
I have found the solution to energy.
Yet all these examples are holograms,
Not real and not able to make a change.
Ideas are formulated
But no action is taken.
There is this idea that Nothing can hurt it, yet,
Internal issues can get to it.
Its fence is not strong enough.
Fences can always get broken down.
One cannot sanitize the mind,
To clean it out,
For what is there has taken over.
It empowers life.
Knowledge is the antidote,
It strives to seal the holes.
You can’t stop the holes from being shut.
Learning is done every second,
Minds and intelligence cannot be captured.
They flow and circulate to the end.
And once the mind finishes
All is lost.
The brain is the whole.
And there is Nothing.
There can be blackness,
Time has stopped.
This shut down mode is our fear.
What was once a seed
Turned into the flower of creation,
And the weed of death.