These words being said are the will of the thoughts that now lay dead.
Fermented in the soil of my dreams,
Drowned into my unconscious streams.

As ghosts they come back now and then.
Shall I put my dead thoughts to pen?

They'd like to acquaint themselves,
with the minds of others.
For they are not nurtured,
They have no father or mother.

They rely on the passion of interest,
that is what will serve them best.

Perhaps one day I will be kind,
and release them from their bind.
For these thoughts are not those that science can find.
They are not existential; they are latent within my mind.

Will I resurrect their lives today?
Pen to paper'I just may.