​There is line of old philosophers

Living in my head

Arguing about what I think.

There are the earth gods

And the sky gods hovering in my mind

Telling me what to believe.

The wild haired scientists poke my brain

Mumbling lectures about body machines

And purposeless universes.

I have no place to live now

But in the warm cavern of my heart

Where I craft poems to drown their din.

Then there is you, the archer,

Feathering your arrows with freedom,

And I am delighted to invite you in.

.© M. G. Iannucci 2016

“The worst enemy of creativity is self-doubt.” -Sylvia Plath


This is a silly poem about some  serious considerations,  something I have been deliberating. Where do your voices come from?

Photo: Peabody Building at Yale University

7 thoughts on “Manacles

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