22 March 2010

Confusion

Abed the possibilities that disabuse
conspire to swindle me; should I arise
to find confusion reigns I’ll know
its yesterday – which
rings a mote of truth

And yet in notes of clarity
with random roots as deep ingrained
as incredulity there is a chance
it may, if I could open eyes preferring
saner company, become today

A safer bet would be a place
somewhere between; a sanctuary
with views both ways for me to borrow
somewhat chaste relief – and yet
abstain from claiming its tomorrow
© 18 February 2010, I. D. Carswell