Thoughts, like soldiers battle-clad,

clash within my mind.

And in the chaos swirling there

no logic can I find.

A single thought,

its saber drawn,

rushes past me,

then is gone.

I stand upon the battleground

and view the muddied scent;

the thoughts adorned in tattered rags

my own clothes neat and clean.

The thoughts negate each other,

no corpses piled high,

so when the battle’s done there’s naught

but smoke, and mud, and sky.

And there I stand,

alone in dread,

with not one thought

left in my head.  

     --Dorien Grey