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