What are thoughts, only neural connections, transfer of impulse followed by conclusion? A journey in time, a pause, life's reflections; past reality lived or a rebirth of illusion? A thought commences, continues to fruition, potent, far reaching or a mere blip in time. Frivolous, quixotic--clothed in erudition, or nebulous, unfocused; naked yet sublime. As ideas emerge and the many concur, is thought then transformed to thing? Reality created as life's images occur; I think that I am and the universe a string. Take away the thought, do skies turn gray; oceans cease to ebb and rivers to flow? If no thought exists, does the world go away; stars above gone--no one left to know? Is creation then a metamorphous of thought, our being, in reality, mind made? Particles arranged and true essence sought; temporally formed--sadly destined to fade.