Who gets confused these days?
Everything is so true, so clear.
Why would you be confused my dear?
Is what I see real or not?
Why would I rather sleep on a cot?
Are words that hate really love?
Are facts alternative you think?
Today if it weren’t for poetry
Life would really stink?
“Lack of understanding; uncertainty,”
is the dictionary definition.
I can only express my rendition
with a mosaic of curved lines
which I myself cannot understand.
Cause I envision
But really all there is, is division.
Cause I dream
of a new idealism,
full of optimism,
perhaps a neologism
that prolonged confusion