When a mind has time to wonder,
you ponder where its going.
Like a storm without the thunder,
or a god that's not all knowing.

The mind tells the eyes,
what there is in sight.
The blueness of the skies,
and darkness of the night.

The mind is the matter,
underneath the skin.
That constant pitter-patter,
of a heart-beat within.

The mind is a curse,
for those whose is great.
The memory of a verse,
or that something you love to hate.

The mind isn't real,
so those thoughts can not do harm.
It's not concrete or steel,
no reason for alarm.

The mind told us the world was flat,
as we looked on from the moon.
The mighty Casey was at bat,
and swung a bit to soon.

The mind is full of good,
thoughts that are so bad.
Like the Robin of the hood,
who gave the loot he had.

The mind will make you ill,
if you have the time.
Best to take a pill,
and write another rhyme.