Poem - Blessed confusion

Blessed confusion,

weaving the twists and turns to bare.

A mix of the newly dying and the new arising,

both ways I stare.

Sure as a shoulder that carries a boulder,

and light as the feather with its gentle glare.

Confusion,

the disillusion of the old conclusion.

Its neither here or there.

Yet, still it begs us to look everywhere.

Don't beware,

instead, be aware!

For the confusion’s contusion,

weaves the web of the old’s dissolution,

forming a tapestry beyond compare.

Let it be as you see what it weaves,

rather than give it a deathly stare.

In all things we are the dreamers,

as we believe what grows from nowhere.

You the perceiver,

dancer and breather,

the old is the leaver,

the new the receiver.

Find yourself anew,

as you forget the role that you bore.

Know your-self in the unbeknownst,

for here all things know how to grow.

It seems confusion has no end to conclusions.

So, surrender yourself if you dare.

Return to your bliss,

be fluid in the twist,

as we weave this cosmic tapestry,

beyond compare.

10/08/2021