The Nascent thought was too heavy to be carried any more,
The frail thought was afraid of the dark alleys of my core.
Tiny wings of hope desperately for a flight strain,
Color of excitement coursed it miniscule veins.
The heat of anticipation warmed my heart so,
The warm color flooded my cheeks often too.
The thought eager to be out in the realms of words,
Peppered its pleas on my breath chords.
I had seeded it a few months ago, on the fertile playground of contemplations
Conceived on a dark Thursday night, It begged incessantly for birth.
It was impatient to run on plain paper,
Wear words of it’s choice and sound dapper
Me, an overprotective creator,
wanted to shield it a little more.
It was after all just a thought,
Not too sure of its own cause.
The little one did not know
That it’s uncultured to show;
The real colors, the reds and pinks of passions are too wild for it’s innocence,
The blacks and grays of denial are raw and it would needlessly bleed.
I forgo hence my right to birth ,
I let it run amok for all it’s worth
It’s there on the back of my mind now
And here it comes to the tip of my tongue.
There it goes back to my core
Feeling tired and sore
It’s on my mindscape in the morning
It’s still dancing on my breaths in the evening
It will give up eventually or birth a dream, having fornicated sinfully with the other thoughts of mine,
A dream that will then haunt my sleepy wakefulness and fill me with wistful pain
And all for want of having a mischievous thought.