David Wood (07 April 1950 / London)
Subconscious thoughts echoing through
A room full of noise bouncing off the walls
Creating sometimes a double echo true,
Sometimes false, bouncing like tennis balls
Hit by an invisible racket of reasons.
Chiselled out of rocks throughout the seasons,
Trying to make sense of life's do or die
Making the best of others sense's that cry
At you in all directions.
Compartmenting thoughts in sections.
But what is the rule book and what does it say?
Where is the logic that understands the way
The thought processes are mined?
Invisible thoughts that are entwined
With outside background noise that scatter.
Reason that rhymes does seem to matter.
Invisible reason taken from the rule book of the mind
That creates the trueness within should it we find.
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