Thoughtless

Sometimes a million thoghts flock in my head
Sometimes they don't, and everything is one.
Sometimes I'm happy when that's true instead;
Sometimes I'm lonely when my thinking's done.
Then on occasion I can be morose,
Or even find the things I think obscene;
But if I didn't I'd be comatose
And therefore must keep thinking in between
My thoughts. Therefore more thoughts must come again
And fill the spaces that their brothers filled
So I can live and think. And thinking then
I know myself, and know what I have willed.
The unthought life is not worthless, but void:
My life is in the thoughts I have enjoyed.