The brain is comparable to a cannon.
Rapid-fire impulses
Catapulting,
Through time and space,
To another world,
One world,
Another,
Distant,
Uniquely inviting.

A place where passion ignites
Whilst brushing against
The flame of insanity's peak—
The tender volcanic master
Of our every existence.

Involuntary meets voluntary.
It's where lucidity
Overpowers such nonconformity:
That of others,
That of ignorance,
That of fearful longing,
That of change.

We strive to describe
The perplexity
Of classically-forlorn love
And of other semi-chaotic occurrences,
The ones identified as dreams,
But to no such avail—
As pathetically transcribed
As that of solid emotional reasoning.

The brain allows us to indulge
In pleasure and triumph,
To be cradled by everlasting glory,
And be maintained by implausible heroism.
Alas, what proof is there in mentality?
What proof justifies cranial wealth as validity?
Nothing such can do
With the exception of a singular opinion,
Likely biased, at that.

The brain allows negativity to coexist
By letting sensory organs
Play Hermes to neurons and axon receptors,
Allowing imperfections
To the seasonal storm,
Accepted as false actuality
And aroused by wishful thinking.

The brain,
The moderator,
The gap between dark and light.