Poem without title

Awoke last night with the words for this poem running though my head. Had to turn on the lamp and write it down.

I
Think
Therefore
I am or am I
What I think I am

Are
We now
Just our thoughts
Running idly here and there
Busy being something we are not

Or
Are We
Of more substance
Made of flesh and bones
Which when we cease to be thought of
Is left to rot in some soon to be forgotten grave
The
End

Jacqui Binford-Bell on All Souls Day