Can't find my way around this house
The rooms are continually rearranged
Every morning I wake with the sun
More and more I feel further estranged
A copy of the floor plans, I copped
All the lines on the print were blue
So I keep playing this blind man's bluff
While I continue to wear two left shoes.
The animals rely on instinctive intellect
To perform their duties in this world
While I must subscribe to hit and miss
In order to have my role unfurled
Climbing trees with red herrings as leaves
Entering caves of suspicion with a strobe
Sailing questioning seas with concentric currents
Searching for home on an anamorphic globe.
The books I've read, poems I wrote
All in the name of defining the ego
If they were to tell me what and why
Their messages have all gone incognito
Looked to the sky and wondered why
The answers couldn't pour down as rain
No use in asking assorted gods for help
I don't want to know Andromeda's strain.
Still I sit within a room of open doors
Each one as jet-black dark as the next
Besides them all is a book of directions
It's written in Confidence-- I can't read the text
Slowly spinning, deciding which way to ad-lib
Any step I attempt might well be my last
So, I recommend to myself to do nothing
Keep hidden, wait for this moment to pass.
Haven't found my place in the working-class
Would never let some job define me
Maybe it's because I retreated from them
Before responsibility set sight upon me
Pink-slips or conflicts were never a problem
Unless you count the ones from within
Always looked over my shoulder for eyes
People make so many judgements with them.
Is satisfaction truly within the grasp
Of those seeking this holiest grail
Some will have reached its golden rim
While most will fall short of failure
For me, satisfaction will never exist
So, maybe I'll get the next best thing
Go out and claim the ceiling and floor
That finding some meaning will bring.
Poetry has the last word.