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I am a philosopher 
The man behind the curtain
Although my words may be obscure
The meaning is exceptionally certain

I do not falter with my tongue
Or skip a beat of speech
A rhythmic pattern of my words
Impossible to breach 

My hands may be preoccupied 
But my mind is free to roam
And roam it does; it wanders so
Reluctant to come home

But I call it back eventually 
And it hangs it's head as it hums
I beckon so, with pity, though 
And to my side it comes

I reign it in, reluctantly
And put it fast asleep 
For what on earth would I need
From my mind while my hands are free?

My fingers bend and dance along
To the pulsing of my thoughts
The strings attached follow suit
And pull together, taught 

So now I have before me
A product of escape 
What else to do with such a thing
Than hurriedly hide it away?

It builds in me and surges forth 
Mimicking the sea
To which my mind ventures towards
Before trudging back to me

I realize at some set time 
The water will break through
And outward spill on to the ground
The consequence of the brew

And I will stand, ragged breathed
Looking up to the skies
Helplessly watching my soul go
Finally free of my demise