Another poem for nobody to read. Why do I bother?

Found this little ditty written the 17th August 2006.

I try to find my way back home,
To the Evergreen trees softening the stream-smoothed stones.

I never knew which path to take:
were there many, narrow and wide?
Were there few,
Or only two, or,
Was there sadly but one way?

I try to find my way back home.
But all things change;
People get old;
Life and death move on.

I try to find my way back home,
But I fear I'm losing my way.
I never walked in solid stride,
But fell into unkind jungle
(Dressed with creatures in camouflage, some say satan, some say god.)
Where demons prowl, behind benign eyes,
Where the sad people laugh, and the happy people cry,
Where beauty is spiteful, and where love is ice cold,
Where all walk naked in the drifting snow,
Where most wear fur on skin-searing days,
Where the sun brings night
And the moon is ablaze.
Where the Doe hunts the Tiger
And the Flies eat the Spiders.
Where everything and all is turned upside down,
And all things in Dark and Light,
Bring terror and wonder and do astound.
Where the weak and strong,
And the lost now belong.
Where slaves become kings,
And kings become slaves,
Carrying iron binding chains,
To be plucked by their masters into the blood lust arena,
Starving lions to be slain.
Where the wife becomes her husband,
And the husband becomes his wife,
Where feminine becomes metallic
And the chisel-faced men soft.

What is this vortex, this whirlpool of confusions?
Of harsh realities and illusions?
In this jungle so strangling dense,
Hostile life is rapidly growing.
Is their no way to escape?

Pathways, if they existed, have ceased.
If there was a pathway I have strayed.
What can I do but lie in deepening blue swirling waters?
And think and dream of how to find out my way.
Out into the sunlight and open expanse,
Where all is in order,
And confusion has ceased.
Where the iron bar have vanished,
And I am released.
And I find a small track
And along I walk -
No cracks in the walls,
and words flow when I talk.
And when I go to bed,
And dream peaceful dreams,
Of stream-smoothed stones and trees Evergreen.

Post Script 3rd September 2006 0915hours

I found a path out the jungle,
and now I run
And every day is cloudy and misty cold.
There are no clear blue sunflower-filled days here.