To see, to hear, to think these thoughts

Within my mind is a conundrum.

How can you be so small, yet

Have no limits?

As my neurons fire, recharge,

Flicker, and spark again,

I sit back and feel the

Life that they perpetuate.

This mind of mine is me;

My souls of yesterday, today, and

Tomorrow are packed safely away.

Maybe someday I will be a

Neuroscientist. I will pick apart

The tender tendrils of a

Gray mind. And inside the

Boney bastion, my own tendrils

Will curl with joy as a new riddle

Is proposed to them. Perhaps, then, I

Should be proud not of myself, but

Of the voracious brain that

Makes me myself.