Thousands pass through your mind,
Maybe ten or twenty you think yourself,
Only a few that you actually follow,
Will define what in reality is You!
So you see what a waste it is
To keep thinking and thinking,
As long as you can’t summon those unnique few
It is a losing battle leading you endlessly spinning.
Ever incessant is this stream
Nary a dam that you can build and win,
There is only one tool that is always within
And that is the breath, so easy to call upon whim.