The Thought Collector

I am the thought collector.  
With a synaptic net,  
I catch these fleeting reminders  
Of my consciousness.  
Like a child in a field,  
Chasing down butterflies.  
Attempting to catch all the colors.  
Putting them in jars and  
Storing them on the shelves of my mind.  
Dusting off the fragile glass vessels  
That have become memories.  
Occasionally admiring my collection  
As it grows.  
My my, how full  
These shelves have become.  
Some strain under the weight of  
The vast array of all the species  
I have contained.  
Then it happens.  
The shelf bows and the jars slide.  
They come crashing down.  
Each shattering and releasing an
 Individual swarm.  
Like thick indigo waves  
Spiraling behind my eyes.  
Surrounding me.  
Forcing me to watch  
As they irratically dance  
Throughout my poor, frantic brain.  
The calm has become the storm.  
Then, through the madness,  
Comes the messenger.  
The one thought  
That can never be contained.  
Piercing the swarm,  
It delivers it's message.  
"Remember,  
You are the thought collector."  
And with that,  
I pick up my synaptic net,  
Become the child in the field  
And like so many times before.  
 I begin collecting.  
 
5/11/2018