Poem: Confusion

Semi restored side REv A


It is an odd sort of maze,
where walls and windows shift,
where fog lives in the inside
and there are no doors
except the ones you build yourself.

Your sole candle seems inadequate,
but for this moment, it is the only tool you have,
It burns down slowly
as you claw at the walls,
hungry for light.

About this poem. 

Confused by it? Of course you are. That’s what it’s like.


PS – The picture was taken at Poplar Forest, Jefferson’s other home.

One comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s