A Thought About Thought

Poem By Benjamin Mitchell

Now and then I think too much
Or sometimes I think so,
Yet thoughtlessness seems like a crutch
For those who dare not know.
I do detest such weakness:
Those that don't think hardly exist
Yet with thought comes a meekness
Pounded in by the mind's fist.
Not that I think much of me
Not quite in that respect
I think I think with decency
With judgments more or less correct.
I'd like to think that thinking's
The thoughtful thing to do,
Yet some thoughts have me sinking
To depths I cannot, should not view.
I once thought myself able
Of thinking it all out.
I thought my thoughts were stable,
But oft they make me doubt.
I've fought my thoughts and prayed for peace
From rotten thoughts I begged release
And yet no pleas for peace can ease
This maddening mental disease.
Since then I soothe my weary head
With the masses' opiate
Tempering the caustic thought
With threads of optimism wrought.
You might think me a coward
That even from my thoughts I hide
But think of all the power
I have now that my God's my guide.
For I no longer think of thought
As some masochistic pyre.
It's more a noble fight well fought
Against my most carnal desires.

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