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Poem



A lone prisoner of my own making,
a cocoon confined within introvert isolation,
I see all the familiar faces recede nowhere,
leaving me stuck in the maze of acuity.
In the weed-webbed wasteland within
piles up the wreckage of life unlived.
My mystique mind turns into Nemesis,
makes a wilderness of mirrors for me,
reflecting the pernicious perception of anguish, 
an emotion engulfed by intuitive foreboding.

The sane sense losing the route to perpetuity,
disappears in the miasma of lonesome reflections. 
The marooned psyche meanders in desolate darkness,
trying to find the deluded traveler, instinctive me.
Enshrouded by despair I turn into a dead wood, 
afloat on the turbulent flow of the ordained strife.   
With secluded mind I drift in the time's eternal flow,
and on the move, I don’t remember where I started from,
for like mirrored driftwood my memory has no memory.

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