Were thought gold,
I’d be Midas
Of the golden touch.
Yet thought is more than gold-
a cloud, like mist; a dream, like wind-
fragile as the break of morning.
Thought is a field, fertile-
it’s a sea, bountiful;
a jungle, fearsome and rich.
Thought is a dream
thin and light, quickly forgotten;
with grip on the mind.
Thought is the glue, binding us human;
The touch divine, stealing our minds;
freedom and bondage, both the bars
and keys from prison.
Thought is divine. Simply divine.
©GayUganda 15 Nov. 07
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