Till The Twain Shall Meet Poem by Leonard Dabydeen

Till The Twain Shall Meet



Mind is so rich
it bubbles the brain with opportunity
I keep my hands in my pocket
feeling the emptiness
crying to make holes with my fingertips
but my God-given dream
does not drift in the falling rain
intransigent hope dances
like a star in the bright moonlight
stirring my faith to move onwards
to go where I belong
rich mind and poor brain
rich brain and poor mind
till the twain shall meet.

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