The Clumsy Sponge of Knowledge

Sometimes I like to think about the people who know it all.
I take my seat at the hall of intelligence
And wonder how it all came to be
The hall of fame for people who’ve inspired me

This sponge of aptitude absorbs, then releases
Flooding our brains with juice
The knowledge is lost and hard to grasp

Lost, but not forgotten, the puddles still remain
Sometimes we like to splash in the puddles
As children do, to act as if as though the brain persists

And our mops, pleading for use
A friend of the sponge that once remained
It is relinquished from the closet using its thick dreads
As though it were a vacuum

The battle of wits begin, so to the ally of the sponge
Gripping all that it can to again be rightfully stored
In that big yellow bucket of the mind

Where thoughts marinate, are entertained
Where they are filtered, disinfected
Then spoken
We listen to what leaves our mouths as it’s been filtered
Questioning validity and spew it all out
Remembering our motivators once again,
Hall of famers we commend

Continuing concern without end
That this new found knowledge is not pretend
That our buckets not overflow
Or our clumsy sponge returns a foe.

And only after the friend completes its task
Sucks up the knowledge, spewed it out
In some form to make our mentors proud
Only after it has been preserved sustained and further questioned,

Only then can we allow our fellow mops
Squeeze into the confines of our storage closets. Be reunited by its comrade sponge
And rest. It awaits new puddles of knowledge your sponge has left behind.