Poetry Month Day 5: Shaky Scalpel


I find myself surprised how often I find insight in my doubt. Maybe it was all the Socrates my profs crammed down my throat, with a dash of Descartes.

Shaky Scalpel

Over wrought
and wastefully
diligent worry

A corrupt mindset
that binds me in
a hurry

Cages built
over decades
lock me tight within

What use is the key
if I can wait
to begin

Days spent lost
in confusion
my natural state

Nights are restless too
hoping my doubt
will abate

Reason flies
against the wall
still I feel no pain

The culling of it
the bad ideas
will sustain

When finished
I can look back
with bold point of view

That after all this
toil I have found
what is true


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