A door marked logic, coated with cobwebs, stands adjacent to a door
tired from use, marked nothing at all. For if time
had been taken to name it, we’d have lost a prime
experience of fervent devotion for which there is no cure.
Conflicting always, these portals lure
me in using whatever chimes
they find fit. While there I am, drudging through the extraneous slime
of a path leading from my heart to my brain, more
work then I am usually willing to take.
So, routinely, I’d stay, letting my heart lead the way.
But it’d only lead to disaster.
It was only when I realized to be fully awake
and out of this dreamlike cliché
could I reach logic and its sensible answer.