Listen: Poetry Corner at the MockingOwl Roost

She knows so much more
than your conscious mind will admit to.
So be aware, and
be wary.

Patient I’m not, although a patient I probably should be,
my conscious mind tells me. To the point, he is, I’ll give him that.

Always reminding me of my shortcomings. Self-doubt, he thrives on it.
She comes to me gently in my dreams, whispering in my ear
sweet suggestions he blocks in times of consciousness.

Leaving clues for my waking self to discover.
Forget your dreams, stick with reality, my conscious expostulates in retaliation. Certainly wouldn’t want my head in the clouds. People might think I’m insane, he reasons. Conformity, he stresses.
She stealthily sends a sign within a song she hums in my brain, popping up on the radio miraculously now, much to his chagrin.
Driving me to think deeper.
Nothing magical here, he insists. What you see is what you get. No point in theorizing or speculating, my conscious self advises. Very pragmatic, he is.
She winks at me through subtle signals, drawing my attention to a particular number, or a name, materializing at strategic moments, which he prompts me to ignore.
Reminding me of something embedded in the recesses of my psyche.
My conscious runs shallow, led wholly by his senses. He instructs me to stop imagining things, people will talk. I suspect he’s intentionally hiding something from me, that I only know the half of it.
Trickster, denying me full disclosure.
She is my sixth, slipping through the surface from the depths to save me. My subconscious spirit knows so much more than she dares divulge.
Nudging me softly with deja vu and premonitions.

He is bold, at the forefront, in control, concealing the truth, steering us down a dark, narrow tunnel of logic.
She is shy, right on the tip of my tongue, out of the corner of my eye, just out of reach, elusively guiding us towards enlightenment.

Stay alert.
The next time she speaks to you, I advise you, no,
I implore you, to take the time to
listen.