To sit with mind in heightened state,
With thoughts evolving constantly.
Talking within, in great debate,
It really is a malady.
How can one sort these whirling words,
That keep rotating endlessly.
Must stop these flying weaverbirds,
So frenzied, trying to get free.
Send me releasing, calming joy,
Wildness depart. New dreams begin.
Then, just go let this charm employ,
Backed by strings of a mandolin.
© Ernestine Northover
Ernestine Northover
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/new-dreams-begin/
