I sometimes have too much to think
Mind liquidised by the blades of conflicting aims
A maelstrom of ideas, words and feelings,
Whipping up a sea boiled by emotional gales.

The fine cutter of thought, though elegant
Is tossed like a cork, compass spinning
And can only weather such a storm
Sails in tatters, with I strapped to her main mast.
Only a vessel with the assured tonnage of true purpose can make headway here,
And that, a rare ship in my oceans,
So take me in tow,
To a safe berth,
Where this cutter might wait out the tumult
And, unfurling new sails, take once more to calmer seas.