The Mind

The mind is our mouthpiece and window

In its insulated inner, pleasing conversations crescendo

Thick and opaque, mysteriousness is its faithful guard

And defended by thoughts, strewn all over like sharp shard

We are fenced out of our own being

Servile to our eyes, worshipping them as all seeing

We sometimes picket and protest

Or sedate ourselves by imagining we are blessed

The inner work cannot be outsourced

The marriage is eternal, we cannot be divorced

From the self, it knows nothing about how to judge

Whatever gifts the mind may bring, it will not budge

The mind’s stewardship over the tongue and eyes

Gives it the power to decree against truth and for lies

The crowd of thoughts will one day scatter

When we stand up to the mind and say, enough with the flatter