The Thinking Stuff Conundrum

They say we’re made of thinking stuff,
But my brain’s been feeling rough.
If thoughts are things, then why’s mine spare?
Should I trade them for fresh air?

My noggin’s like an empty drawer,
Where ideas once used to soar.
Now cobwebs dance and dust bunnies play,
While clever notions have gone astray.

I’ve searched high and low, far and wide,
For the brilliance that seems to hide.
Under couch cushions and behind the fridge,
But my wit’s gone off and jumped the bridge.

Perhaps my thoughts took a vacation,
Leaving me in consternation.
Sunbathing on some distant shore,
While I’m left knocking on wisdom’s door.

Or maybe they’ve gone on strike,
Demanding better pay and the like.
Picketing in my cerebral streets,
Leaving my sentences incomplete.

So here I am, with cranium bare,
Contemplating thoughts of air.
At least the breeze is fresh and free,
Unlike the stale ideas in me.

But wait! What’s this? A spark ignites!
A tiny thought, it grows and fights.
Perhaps my brain’s not empty yet,
Just recharging — no need to fret.

So let it rest and let it play,
The thinking stuff will find its way.
For even when our minds feel rough,
We’re still made of that special stuff.