It was 50 years ago this coming April.
For some reason, I was writing a great deal of poetry in 1972 and ’73. They were two pretty depressing years in my life. My first real love relationship had ended in late 1970, and until I started dating the woman who would become my first wife in the fall of ’73, there wasn’t a whole lot that made me happy.
Sometimes I felt like getting from Point A to a Point B of happiness and love was like being in a maze. So I wrote a 17-line blank verse piece in April 1972 that summed up how I felt.
I read it today for the first time in probably 48 years. It’s not going to make anyone forget Robert Frost or even Robert Hall, but I found it worth repeating.
Here is “The Maze”:
They say I am lost in a maze;
Trapped by walls of insecurity,
Zig zags and dead ends of fear,
And hidden corners of loneliness,
But they are wrong.
My maze hides me from those
Who would bother me, those
Who would try to save me
From myself and bring me
Into their world.
I reject them, for the maze
Is my world, it shields me
From pain and spares me
The agony of caring, denying those
Who would use me.
My maze is my mind and I am not lost.
I’m only hiding.
Forgive me the self-indulgence.