In the wilderness lingers my thought
A new found home, fallow and desolate.
Languid, the rivers of thought
Choked by the drought of poetry.
But, the river within is stubborn, its crested waves is eternal continuum without beginning or end.
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The mind is abode of freedom and bondage, shackle it not with over indulgence.
The mind is a boundless ocean, dry it not with burning trade wind of evil.
The mind is the abode of the spirit where an angel awaits your call to stir.
From it wonders are wrought, from it we hold near acquaintance with the stars.
The mind is the biggest book in a forlorn universe waiting to be understood by men