Rolling Stones gathering Little Moss

I search in vain.
To beseech the thoughts unveiled
Yet in endless convey,
Is what I try to portray;
These words in me betray.
All I plan to say
Yet still I pray,
That I get my message straight. .

For the thousand speed of thoughts,
That fights to keep aloft.
And in several moods,
Its traffic makes me mute.
Still it comes around
Like a contemplative lurking around,
And keeps my brain hot
With rounds of sages taught.

Now I wonder why I wander,
To ponder all my heart utters.
For the struggle to speak to the brain,
All the moods and thoughts swayed,
Still the battle for both to agree;
Becomes the war deep within.  
And so is the thought of me,
That slows me still.

To get the words 
That makes me speak
Together with heart that screens its mood.
Is all the stubborn process but few actions shown, 
Oh please hurry and let’s display.
All the inner world of me
For I can’t wait to say all I’ve planned to act
Impulses seen for others to react. 

Yet in dismay or to my delight a different approach is brought to light. 
For I imagined the response which may be an insight,
The observational response to the person intended.,
Who gives off the actions I projected;
Or returns the message of mine rejected.
With a sharp or blunt mood and actions outright,
Oh how wrong I envisaged as my foresight
A conversation to behold for knowledge shared by both. .  

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