A natural forest of darkness”
“A gift lost somewhere
In the labyrinth of who I really am”
And when I do complain
“Things become a confusing maze
where I stray, deep into self,
And far-away from myself”
Putting sadly joyful impressions
Upon gray meandering pages
“In nothing but vagabond words
That betray me as soon as they’re written,
Wandering on their own way
Over slopes and meadows of images,
And along avenues of dim concepts,
Down footpaths of confusion and dreams”
