I try hard not to think,

at least nothing of great import.

The more I try not to think,

the more thoughts appear.

The thoughts are like kids,

in a birthday bouncy house.

Bouncing to and fro,

without discipline to confine.

Those these thoughts have,

no substance, 

they leave their own mark.

Battering and bruising,

the ego and the id, 

breaking down the barriers,

to keep them hid.

Yet, once in awhile,

like a wild stallion on the plains,

a thought breaks through,

speaking it’s mind,

for all to see. 

Running wild

to trample fragile grasses,

on the landscape of the heart.


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