I have two brains inside my head,
Sharing thoughts in synoptic threads;
Sifting what's been heard or read;
Random, weird, or rational doubts,
They get crowded, some fall out.

Like mustard seeds some fall near stones,
And wither away before full grown;
Un-liked, un-loved, barely a hit,
Not to pass our reader's lips.

       Have I sown more *******?

Some scatter near the thorny bush,
The root is strong, but growth gets crushed;
It seems I can't discriminate
What readers like and what they hate.

       I need re-evaluate: Am I writing for writing's sake?

Some thoughts find richness firmly grounded,
The how and why leaves me confounded;
But the ideas blossom, some are priceless,
A palate treat with figurative spices.

       Now, this is more to my reader's liking.