The mind will tell you that it is king,
Reigning over this conscious thing.

It's place of residence is however, small.
Thinking from the forefront pair of lobes.

In size and weight it is far outdone,
The entire body,
Without which
It cannot exist.

Yet it assumes;
In words I rule,
Sensations are of little value.

So the majority, the mass,
They lie in wait.
For the mind to realise it's gradual fate.

That it too is merely a tool.
Servant to the one, the whole.
You.