Thinking...

it is it that thinks that we think
works most
too convincing
just as it is elucidating
trying to give all the answers
yet at the end
what happens? dead ends
inevitable,
gates locked and there
are no keys,
the labyrinths are leading
us to nowhere
and then we sit under the tree
unthinking what has been
thought
merely receiving air
engulfing it with all the rooms
of our lungs
breathing and savoring
coolness
and gazing at the spread of grass
the trips of clouds
and then as light dims to make a night
we rest on our beds
less the thoughts
but only the prayers
that all is well
because we have finally get rid
of the belief
in thoughts.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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