Cotton to Silk

Within each human living, a native spring
wells up within the brain. It carries all
a person's thoughts and dreams and everything
the mind might use to brighten and enthral
itself. The always-new, "What if?" cracks doors,
then cue ball like, shifts round the table's play.
One's aiming skills define that wing which soars
above bad habit's galling palls of gray.
It's lucky for my ever questing soul
this sense of vestal newness has remained
these many years. But now, a stern patrol
to boot the inner fraud must be maintained.
Childlike, the scripture says, must be the state
of tranquil mind to enter Heaven's gate.