My Own

The head holds ideas.
The heart hosts expressions.

I have them with me for some time.
They stir and stew all the day.

I encounter an enthusiasm
a swift one like a vision.

The dreams originate in sequences
while the concepts shape up into an anthology.

The outcome is a beauty,
an epitome of all perceptions.

It is an ornate piece
the nuances gratify.

I wonder for a while
regard it with admiration.

It is mine, my very own
amazement overwhelms.

Am I eulogising my creation?
At occasions, I have to.