deepundergroundpoetry.com
Confusion
What plays the art--- confusion?
Do I bundle it up for a cold, bright day
When words and phrases are of one part--
Not pulsating gnats in pollen pockets
Neither too sweet to hear,
But one voice in tune with another.
Do I pull at that thread of progress,
Or see patterns and seams as the process of shelter--
Not phases and mazes
In a patchwork of lies.
How high and dense becomes the purpose,
A class of wisdom too dull to climb:
To reach the purity of dimension---
A thicket of soul,
From all three sides.
Do I bundle it up for a cold, bright day
When words and phrases are of one part--
Not pulsating gnats in pollen pockets
Neither too sweet to hear,
But one voice in tune with another.
Do I pull at that thread of progress,
Or see patterns and seams as the process of shelter--
Not phases and mazes
In a patchwork of lies.
How high and dense becomes the purpose,
A class of wisdom too dull to climb:
To reach the purity of dimension---
A thicket of soul,
From all three sides.
Published 24th Dec 2020
| Edited 25th Dec 2020
Author's Note
This was written in 2009 a few months into the most sustained, prolific writing spree of my life, after my otherwise most depressing year. I wrote two full volumes I intended to publish, though I never did. I've thanked God so many times for my enjoyment of this art form. And more often than not, I have written for myself...and been satisfied.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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