To what extent are my thoughts mine
When they resemble flaws in glass
Or soldiers marching in a line –
No sooner do they come than pass?
Or what about the things I think?
Do I engender hope and fear?
Aren’t I more like a line of ink
In which my thoughts like words appear?
My thoughts are tales of days gone by,
Or else they’re dreams of those to come,
But, either way, they fade and die
Just like the echo of a drum.
In light of this, it’s plain to see
To no extent are my thoughts me.
Photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash
