Madddening Thoughts

My mind is a mystery, It knows all that I know scaring me out of my wits. Methinks, I cannot hide my thoughts— That’s insane! Why would anyone know my innermost thoughts? Least of all, my mind! That’s between my soul and my conscience, Why would my mind corrupts my thinking? Mind is gullible and malleable, It is like a putty A kneaded dough A tilled field sitting fallow Like a placid pond Like a clean slate Like a blank sheet of paper, It reproduces what it sees, hears, feels And interprets in its own ways, I don’t want it to defile or adulterate my thoughts! If I let go off my mind, Will I get back my sanity? Making me at ease? Peace at last? Making me think freely, independently, unobtrusively? Without my mind knowing what I am thinking? I don’t want anyone or anything any longer to be privy to my innermost thoughts; I want to think without my mind being aware of it! Will they call me a mad man if I comprehend with my heart, with my soul, with my conscience, And not this manipulative mind? How do I walk on the water and remain afloat? Fly free in the sky still rooted to the ground? Look in your eyes and judge your soul? Befriend the devil and fight my demons, Accost God and manhandle Him, Dwell in the heaven and yet remain alive?