There is a crowd in oneâ€™s mind;
It takes a lot of oxygen to survive.
It drains the mind like a battery
drains its power supply.
A Crowded Mind leaves the body deficient and
anemic of hope and colorless of joy.
It scans the soul like an MRI with contrast.
Telling the story of an old broken down
Not a physician in the land has
the balm it takes to restart the old machine.
So it creeks, sputters, and makes
a non-knowing sound that irks the ears of
all that has to hear its clatter.
The Heart begins to whisper to the Crowded Mind;
Is there not a great physician in the land?
The image of quill and scroll and a very old man;
shows a shaken hand and very clear mind;
appears in the old crowded head.
Prophet he was; and still is,
Jeremiah, they called him by name;
From his aching heart asked?
Isnâ€™t there any healing balm for this mind?
Isnâ€™t there a Doctor to be had?
Why arenâ€™t the hearts of Godâ€™s people healed?
So the Crowded Heads can think for themselves?
Then the old Crowded Mind takes a trip down
the path from where it made a skid.
Saying, Godâ€™s people had been my people
But the heart-head build an idol of self;
by purchasing much and using
all the coins it had to crowd the head.
Crowded Mind I had, pain I had, trouble I had!
Had it all except healing salve for my old rusty mind.
One that strayed from the path called Straight.
A man named Paul appears in my mind;
Reminding me to take the next right on
The street called Straight!
Straight the road but narrow was the gate;
I made the turn and right through the gate.
I hear a welcome voice that said, â€œI am the gate;â€
And you have left outside the thieves and robbers
That had crowded your mind!