I have rebuilt a mind.
I built it overnight.
I have torn off its foundation by hand,
One concrete slab at a time.
(To reveal the fertile soil of the unlearned mind.)
I have worked away at its pillars:
Outdated notions, antiquated philosophies
I have granted it new memories.
Knee-deep in rubble,
I have rediscovered its purity.
In the course of this renovation,
I have sunk lofty ceilings, ripped apart awnings;
I have stripped the walls bare
Of all thoughts and feelings. Until naked,
The house folds neat in a pile by my feet.
And when all that’s left is but empty land,
I plant in it the seed of faith
And introduce a weed called doubt.
I watch the two grow and intertwine,
To produce the purest, brightest mind.
By: Kristel Marie Pujanes (7/30/2012)
Image: A Cottage in a Cornfield. John Constable (1817)