As demonstrated by my sonnet from earlier in the week about minds exploding, I am currently taking a subject in my Masters course that is much more philosophical than anything I have done since undergraduate study. Today’s poem has been inspired by my reading of Wittgenstein and Descartes. It is perhaps more philosophical than my poetry often is; I hope that the result is, if not easy to understand, at least evocative. If neither, then I blame the philosophy that I’m having to read! The hinge that held the beeswax in the mind; The ladder upon which the learner climbs And navigates what new worlds she may find – Worlds where the certain falls and falls, sometimes Revealing dull contrivances and rhymes. The hinge that held the door firmly in place; The wax which melts, reformulates in climes Now hot, now cold; the mind which tries to trace The shifts, the essence, all that it contains And is contained within the words I am; The vacuum and the Being which remains; The truth that lingers when we lose the sham: The hinge that holds the beeswax still in view; The door, the soul, within the Me, the You.