Variations on a theme


My mind is still a messy place.
I told myself I lost my faith
no God for me, no grand design
proud atheist from this day on.

And yet it doesn't go away
shards of future, here and now
being where they shouldn't be.
How irrational. How untidy.

I'm still sixteen. Shy teenage geek
unable to accept myself
knowing what I know, and can't.
I'm forty-one. I should grow up.


My mind is still a messy place.
Where bits of future floating in,
get tangled in the present.

Why do they let themselves be caught?
They have no business in this place.
Why do they come? Why don't they learn?

And yet they come, and sit and wait.
I'd let them out, but they won't go.
They'll tell their tale. They will be heard.


My mind is not a tidy one
Shards of future, drifiting in,
will lodge themselves
in the soft and slimy walls
causing little pain
but much unease.


These are three versions of the same poem, starting from the same point but going off in different directions. They're given here in the order in which I wrote them.

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