A whim of mind

Bourn of echos of thought

Ideas, dead, gone to time

It floats to its fate.

A wanderlust of mind 

It gives cadence to few

Not but the whim let tales

Who enraptured the psyche.

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A steel vice of mind 

Stronger than iron of all

even the most tempered wills

to be held for months or years.

A blade of mind

sharpened by monotony

To cut through the last path 

Held in its cruel, new tale. 

A satisfaction of mind

from its thought-corpse, dry

Its blood-words gone, taken

deemed enough to focus on. 

A flow of mind

a more sedate pace

The last whim eaten

now marginally satisfied.

A whim of mind

Bourn anew of ashes

Mixed with things drawn in

The circle is drawn closed.

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(Note: written some time last year)