The Architecture of a Brilliant Mind—a poem for the therapist’s inner world

The architecture of a brilliant mind
has no corners.
It curves and twists —
echoing resonance, carrying depth without measure

Thoughts file in:
grieF with heavy boots,
joy! trailing light behind it,
sorrow draped like wet wool.
She arranges them on a weathered rack
that bore garments of tired shoulders

Silence isn’t absence here.
Another reality – waiting to be mapped
by those willing to sit still long enough.
the caretaker speaks not loudly, but true.
Listen closely, you can hear her —
gathering blueprints for surviving life’s cruel machinery.
A living catalog of knowledge and experience,
marvelously unraveling the abstract.

No one asks
what it’s like to walk home
with fragmented lives
still stuck – sharp as glass – in her jacket’s sleeves
Or whether she ever forgets
the tremble in a voice, a voice silenced for years
right before they say the hardest thing
that broke them in the silence and welcomed death.

Every day,
standing at the edge of someone’s humanity —
watching, catching, carrying.
Time moves differently here,
swiftly and unforgiving
the frailty of life, exposed

A traveler of minds,
navigating through generations of despair and triumph
witnessing years never lived, but has heard of these tales

And I —
I am sorry
for hanging my coat on that weathered rack
there’s no rest for people like me – only death can provide full rest
I am sorry
For leaving smudges on the glass
and calling it reflection.