Conciousness

In your eather it was writ  
Not two plus two
A formulea with no E Fit  
 
Science could only scratch its head  
When you thought it was sleeping  
It was driving bright street cred  
 
Being in the thick of it  
Gathering of old and new  
The metamophisis that grew  
 
An intelect that said  
I'll write of that  
And poetry a consciousness mapped  
 
The spinners in the cerebral  
Woke buzzing like a bee  
Contrived or just voluntary  
 
A homily with one franchise  
For you to scribe  
A one to one alive  
 
Groomed from womb  
Until you die  
A me, yourself, and sometimes I  
 
The Compos mentis God had lent  
A distillation  
Ever active sediment  
 
Lobes so profound with that invent  
They walked somewhere  
I never went
 
For in that stream
more than dip your feet
and not get them wet