Manacles

​There is line of old philosophers

Living in my head

Arguing about what I think.

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There are the earth gods

And the sky gods hovering in my mind

Telling me what to believe.

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The wild haired scientists poke my brain

Mumbling lectures about body machines

And purposeless universes.

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I have no place to live now

But in the warm cavern of my heart

Where I craft poems to drown their din.

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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

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

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Photo: Peabody Building at Yale University

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