Member Poem

My soul, mutilated, molded in my skull
by its residents,
the sole prisoner of war.
 
War waged by wit and wisdom,
infant streams next to the soul river,
screaming its flow since creation,
the song that tosses me
deep into the first minute.
 
The pubescent mind,
so naïve and headstrong,
cannot wrap itself around
the childlike whim of the
ancient soul.
 
The mind,
so addicted to synthetic reason,
refuses the might of
gentle mercy.
 
The feeble streams use all their force
to bring dead trees to the living river.
A dam of bone-like trees locking limbs.
 
The mind defined [love] as convenience.
The mind defined [love.
The mind defined love.
Set the soul river ablaze.
Remind the streams.