My neural rivers, those driftwood thoughts
Carrying them to realms beyond their birth
Misplaced in space, set adrift into forever
In places I knew, but no longer remember
These sorts of thoughts are called feelings
They seem to possess little use
Except to fuel a burning want
To express a coherent truth
If able to wield emotion
I could form words and string sentences
Glorious paragraphs of intelligible insight
Bridging the gap
These ideas don't think, they feel
I feel them buzzing in my arteries
A sensation that only inspires myself
Will I ever seem eloquent to anyone else?
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