Confusion.

Confusion.

'Confusion is not an ignoble condition.'

It is late,
Everyone is in bed,
And I am here being pretentious,
Reading through reams of computer files
In a half-hallucinatory state.
I have put so many words out to float in the precision of
cyberspace,
And I have freed my emotions wholeheartedly,
Whether world weary, wondrous or endlessly sad.
Tonight I feel none of these things,
But a confusion that is indefinable.
I am also facing the age-old choice at the warrior's knife,
Of compromise for clarity,
Or a vague ambiguity that will be a fruitless tree tomorrow.
When you do not understand how your heart beats,
And you couldn't label each of your organs on a diagram,
Don't know where your gall bladder is, or what it is for,
Then I can't tell how you are expected to know how you feel.
It scares me that there are unplumbed depths to my psyche,
And the poetry scares me too.
This awen is unexplainable,
Sometimes I feel like I am not myself when I write,
Because I don't understand it, even when it is all out on the
page.
I feel like a mother giving birth to an ethereal monster.
I don't understand it, but I love it.
And I beg of you, hard soldier,
Please don't stone it to death.

24/12/01