Apr 1, 2013

My father confuses me,
The future becomes more of a mystery,
My mother remains sentient,
Leaving the mind far from content.

I have so much to not to be sad,
However materialism makes me mad,
And from those I thought I knew,
Start to be viewed through a different hue.

The poem may seem to rhyme,
But my mind skips a beat, and loses track of time.

             … In essence,
                                    I’m confused.


I like philosophical books, math diagrams, poetry, helping others to think, and black and white pictures. Subscribe via RSS.