Thoughts

A confetti of thought in colloidal suspension
In a whim of defiance, instead of remaining
On a butterflies wings with the speed of forever
And with silence allowing entrapment and retention,
They flee without quiet damned apprehension.

It is like the few dreams I've been lately not having;
They're so few and so far interplaced that I cannot
Yet one thought clearly think but requiring, needing.
It's without these desired lovely dreams I start raving.
There's no sense to the words I insist to give telling.

I although have belief in the power of habit:
That a person can clarify what's in their foremind
And without concentration that's typically helping.
For those moments, collected fresh thoughts help that facet
Overlooked by those rash, unenlightened, or absent.