No Clear Way to Describe It

No Clear Way To Describe It

To bare feelings genuine

free of mystery

removes all art and life.

Is this so?


yet perhaps not,

perhaps mystery is an illusion

produced by illusion itself.


perhaps these feelings are self provoked.

Unfortunate, there are no clearer words,

no more explanatory ways,

only the mystery of my stories

and each thought is explained,

in the mystery itself.

The answers can come from

any convoluted plan,

any selfish push.

Forgive us this day

our daily bread.

My life is full of progress

and I still have more to do.

I was a terrible buddhist.

And a sinful christian,

a lazy taoist,

and a confused atheist.

This is not my life story,

but it is true.

These things were

and still are true,

though shrouded in the tedium of mystery,

it is still true

it is still there

it is still real.

Published by James J Jackson

I'm a poet from California.

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