For DVerse’s quadrille Monday #56, for which the word is muddle. I’m not quite as lost as the poem suggests, but this is semi-autobiographical.
So many voices muddle the meaning
Of my life, unprompted opinions
Coming in, dimming my soul’s light.
Or trying, for I’m fighting.
Even in my own mind the options try
To compete — which one’s for me?
The past is a morass — the future foggy .