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[Mike Smith]

In all its glory we see the world,
Placing our story and experiencing things,
Upon our inner reflections of life,
Our minds creating vibrant images;
But do we know where these thoughts are locked away,
And what ones are friendly, or what ones forbidden?
Where's the map to this inner world,
All its ideas, and its dreams, unfurled?
To find them a mental maze we must search,
Looking toward thoughts that are otherwise hazy;
But they shine once we know them,
These bright memories, they do hint,
On the way to finding our inner fingerprint.

[The Personist]

This feels more like postulation than poetry. It seems more an attempt to be philosophical than poetic...and it just feels contrived. I think this sort of pontification should come forth more in your imagery than it does now, because this is just a line-broken-up testament to individuality and memory. It doesn't excite, entice, or surprise.