January 12, 2011
My hands clenched tight around an idea
Like a seed or a bomb it waits in my fist
Will I let it grow in to something big in my mind
Will I let its roots snake in to my every thought
Till my ideas start to rhyme and reorder
Until every moment is a silent song
Or will I let it tick by moment by moment
Until it explodes and covers my perception
With fragments of ideas that never happened
Idea doesn't mean anything quite yet
It’s just a shape without definition
It’s a picture without any reflection
It’s a new invention without a purpose
It’s a crime without breaking a law
It has no meaning it just is there
Waiting for me to decide

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