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Thread: My Mind is a Whirlpool

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    Newbie Japxican may be famous one day Japxican may be famous one day Japxican's Avatar
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    My Mind is a Whirlpool

    I wrote this last night. Took me about an hour or so. It began as one huge paragraph, but I decided to cut the lines to emphasize each point or action. Please, tell me what you think. I love feedback.

    My Mind is a Whirlpool

    My mind is a whirlpool,
    all the thoughts swirling about,
    and meeting at the bottom,
    only to spread apart
    and continue their spinning.
    Spring brings new leaves
    on the trees,
    new ideas fresh and healthy
    that mature into summer,
    but become distant in autumn
    and dormant in winter,
    and then reappearing
    in spring again.

    With each new spring
    come leaves that were
    never there before,
    that have come into existence
    as a cause of continuous action,
    different from their predecessors,
    yet as similar to them
    as clones.
    I like to walk in the forest
    and see its splendor,
    its natural beauty,
    its gentle peace
    that glazes the landscape
    with a sweet coating.
    ‘t is the essence of Eden,
    a world of enchantment,
    a fantasy like no other.
    Life is everywhere
    and it gives life to me,
    filling my mind
    with wondrous thoughts.

    Then the warm days of summer
    approach after the flowers
    are abloom
    and the leaves of the trees
    have peaked their growth.
    At this time,
    the story is unraveled,
    the pieces have fit together,
    and the course is charted,

    only to be blown away
    with the cool autumn winds
    blowing south.
    These winds,
    though, are monstrous,
    sweeping everything in their reach,
    carrying my thoughts

    into the dormant winter nights.
    The white, glistening snow
    blankets them,
    preserving them
    for the new coming spring.
    The cold nights
    bring thoughts of death,
    thoughts of darkness,
    with the soft, powdery snow
    that comforts them
    and protects them
    from the cold, wintry winds.

    The leaves return,
    deeper than before,
    riding the whirlpool through spring,
    continuing its cycle
    until it reaches its oblivion
    on the ocean floor
    and becomes greater,
    building its eternity on older thoughts
    that are swirling there,
    replenishing its beauty and splendor
    with the new ones falling in.
    More and more,
    until no more can be received,
    and eternity is oblivion,
    is the convergence of all seasons
    into which nothing more can be attained.
    For then,
    there will be truth,
    and the cycle will never cease ‘til then.
    Last edited by Japxican; Jun 05, 2006 at 07:29 PM.

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