Synapsis

I've heard that they prune
all the thoughts we don't use -
that they pluck them like weeds in a yard -
that they sweep them away,
only saving to stay
all the ones that we cherish and guard.

If you choose to keep rage,
at the end of your age
you'll have saved only fury and fire;
if you practice on glass
you may find your mind's mass
made of nothing but colors and wire.

There's a secret to keeping
from groaning and weeping
that half of your mind has been snatched:
keep the thoughts on their feet
and kiss logic discreet -
hold it close, and you'll stick the synapse.

Let this be the word
that you're saved that you heard;
grow fire in a meadow and kick -
give gods to your name
or give in to the game,
but please,
     get the synapse to stick.


~
Age when written: 15