I’m so private
that even from my pad and pen I hide
keep tucked deep inside
my thoughts
trying not to get caught
conveying images of a future past
that never had a chance to last
beyond communications’ misdirection
and minor made major selection
of hearing
ships to pass by night
and away by day
often I lay
watching the sands of my mind
down the path
of an hourglass’s
into moments missed
and the reminisced
plans that never were
or will be
you see
it is like a daily
photo-op marriage of imagery
that once played on lips of possibility
but has dipped beyond one’s reach
if only to teach
that the only green grass
is the one you take time to water…
I perch on the edge
of a crevice of my brain
trying hard to maintain
the water color painting
that seems to be running off the canvas
can’t stand it
but wanting for “now”
stuck-up on being proud
rather than weak
my thoughts speak
what I have no speech for
I rather not implore
what use to be
though not anymore
the ceiling shatters
and the rain pours
ink on paper
dying to soak up the drama
running chaotic within
the hell of my personal sin
what did such actions expect to win?
Because after handing over the cost
to portray the distinction of a boss
greater was the loss
that has seemingly been swept away
by the tides of the mind.


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Ameehsal MindSpeaka

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