The comfort of confusion

The comfort of confusion
Brought about by one’s own hand
Is rarely to be fathomed image

Or felt by another man
In fact it creates confusion there
Not of the comfortable kind
More like a prickling needle
Or avalanche of the mind
So build with clarity if you must
These towers in your soul
But leave me to my tempest
And let my billows roll

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2 thoughts on “The comfort of confusion

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